


Strong Man Steve Rogers

by valia67



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Attempt at Romance, Bodyguard Romance, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Investigations, Kidnapping, M/M, Police, inspiration from strong woman do bong soon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-04-14 04:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valia67/pseuds/valia67
Summary: Steve Rogers is a delicate soul, which is why he's able to break a man in two.Endowed with supernatural physical strength since birth because of a familial curse/gift, the young man finds himself entangled in a criminal investigation: several women are kidnapped in his neighborhood. In parallel, he finds himself hired as Asteria CEO James Barnes' bodyguard, recently receiving death threats that order him to step down and sell the firm.  All in all, Steve finds himself in a big mess and doesn't understand much. Especially when he's blinded by his high-school crush on Peggy Carter, now police officer, and fails to notice that this prick of a CEO may be... sympathetic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've watched the show "Strong Women Do Bong Soon" and it was really funny, well-written and entertaining. I decided to rewrite it with Steve and Bucky as the mains, and the characteristics correspond quiet well I think. Enjoy!

 

            A loud bang tore up the air. The bus’s tires shrieked relentlessly as the vehicle lost all ground adhesion, performing zigzag movements. The driver tried a hundred times to regain control by pressing the brake pedal, a futile attempt. The unlucky passengers were falling down, yelling and gasping, desperately trying to reach something they could hold on to.

The problem was the road, a bit at high altitude, soon turning left; it was serving the whole town below, but without any brakes, the risk of falling was increased. The abrupt turn was dangerously getting way too close, and the dreadful shrieking continued, auguring a fatal ending for those poor passengers. Then, as every bit of hope disappeared like snow melts in sunlight, the bus started to slow down.

It was very light at first, and the turn was still awfully drawing nearer. But some kind of opposite coercion was effectively retaining the vehicle. It grew more powerful, decreasing the bus’s speed, and definitely bungling the tires; and as the barrier depicted the much-dreaded turn, the vehicle stopped, slightly pushing the metal fence that prevented it from falling. People inside had crouched on the floor, ready to embrace a future and violent death; they thus looked in awe and astonishment, unable to understand what had saved their lives.

At the back of the bus, a young hooded man rubbed his hands, content. He looked back at the bus’s trajectory, observing the tires’ burning marks on the ground. There was a second mark, though.

The man lifted his left foot to take a glimpse at the sole of his sneakers, completely destroyed.

_Oh, crap. They were new. I’m gonna get killed._

***

_One year later_

 

            Steve walked the pedestrian crossing, always full of his personal vigor that was expressed in his entire body; maybe he didn’t move confidently, but at least he was friendly and likeable. Modestly dressed in a grey t-shirt on which he had thrown a dark blue cotton jacket, as well as charcoal pants and elegant shoes, the wind gently blew through his wheat-colored hair, cut short at the neck. He carried with him a brown shoulder bag in which he had everything he needed: sandwiches, chocolate, orange juice, a few files, his sketchbook and what he had bought for his family.

Because Steve was heading towards a little shop, _The Rush(ian) Hour_ , popularly called _The Rush’_ , which actually referred to a “rush hour” and Russian food and dishes. It was held by whom he considered his family, a married couple. Okay, they were about the same age as him, but that didn’t stop them from assuming he was their long-lost son.

He opened the glass door that emitted a little tinkling sound. This shop was like a second home to him, and he was welcomed as an inhabitant; indeed, a red-head greeted him with all the love of the world.

“Where have you been, you dumbass?”

“Nice to see you too, Tasha,” Steve retorted. “You can offer me a slice of that delicious carrot-stuffed pie since I bought what you needed.”

“The day I’ll give you merchandise for sale destined to clients is the day that incapable idiot of a husband takes over the business,” she said.

“That was an unnecessary mean and long sentence,” Steve noticed. He was soon joined by a dirty-blonde haired man who looked a bit scruffy, wearing a band-aid on the bridge of his nose and hearing aids. “He’s right,” the man said, “I feel oppressed in here. I’m a victim.”

“Shut up Clint,” the red-head shot.

Of course, that was all an impression; Natasha, whom Steve endearingly called Tasha, genuinely loved Clint, and that was why she kept on messing with him. A particular type of love, yes, but that was how she functioned. Tying up her fiery hair in a bun and taking off her green apron, she sat in front of Steve who was already seated at a table, soon joined by her husband.

“So, I hope you found a job.”

“Nat, don’t bother him with that right now. He’s been looking for weeks,” Clint defended.

“Well, he’s not gonna put his ass on this chair all day and watch us work like the damned. Is he?”

Steve laughed, but was dead inside. Nat was right; he couldn’t do nothing all day, especially with his strong-willed and enthusiastic personality. But for the time being, he had been rejected everywhere; contrary to his brother Sam, who obtained a diploma and all that stuff, Steve wasn’t that much of a gifted student. Sure, he knew tons of interesting things, but they were never rewarded by school, which is after all an institution that impels oneself to conform to a legitimate form of culture.

“I’ve done every shop in the neighborhood, every supermarket, every telecom center, hotel, bar, restaurant, even swimming pools. But they never carried my application forward,” the blonde said.

“I know, it’s hard to find a job nowadays,” Natasha said. “Nonetheless, you can’t give up. And you know the rules around: I’m not hiring you.”

“Understandable, since I live with you already.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Clint interrupted. “We may be your age and not fitting the plot timeline, but you’re like a son to us. If you’re living with us freely, it’s because we chose to.”

“ _You_ say it’s free. I didn’t,” the red-head jested. “He’ll have to pay it back one day, and that’ll make a _looooot_ of money. Bet he’s gonna find himself some kind of rich heir and our money problems will be solved.”

Steve let out a guffaw and rolled his eyes. “You need to stop with this. It’s embarrassing.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep talking and see if I care. If I don’t see a matte black Bentley continental parked outside in two years, you’re out,” she added.

“Alriiiiight then, I’m off to work on my résumé,” and he got up quickly, leaving the couple.

“I swear, people who don’t know you could imagine that you’re mean,” Clint said. “Hopefully it’s not my case. Haha. Two years,” he said while chuckling. Natasha looked him in the eye, dead serious (or at least she looked like it).

“I swear on my grandmother’s _pirozhki_ that if a Bentley isn’t outside within that period, things are gonna get wild.”

***

Steve was in his room, rewriting for the hundredth time his résumé on the computer. The worst was that he actually _had_ experience! He had worked as a waiter, mover, PE substitute, even volunteer firefighter -the only problem was that he was a volunteer, thus not paid. Natasha had incidentally snapped.

As the blonde man wrote down “ _delicacy and compliance”_ in the qualities box, he obviously noted that the common denominator to all of those previous jobs was physical strength. Bodily force. Raw power. Muscles. And there was a reason: he actually had a supernatural strength. Yes, that was a secret, that nobody knew except Natasha, Clint and Sam, his family. Wanda also knew, but it was okay since she was one of his best friends, and he considered her as his daughter. He had a complicated relationship to family, what could he do. He had always loved the saying “ _Blood is thicker than water”_ , since it implied that you chose your real family, the one you unconditionally love.

But speaking of family, and this time the biological one, Steve had inherited his gift from his long-gone mother, dead a long time ago. He had never known his real father. In any event, his family was apparently “gifted” or “cursed”, depending on which point of view you have, with exceptional physical strength from time immemorial; it passed to the children, but randomly.

Steve being an only child, the God of Shitty Families must have thought that it’d be a real shame if he wasn’t endowed with such a refined quality. Because, the thing was that Steve found himself to be a tender soul, attracted by finesse, subtlety, especially in arts; he drew very often in his sketchbook, which he carried with him.

However, he also had an _extremely acute_ (and that was still a euphemism) sense of justice, that was sort of incompatible with the previous temperament. To simplify, let’s just say that if he saw a man groping a woman’s ass in the subway, he’d just break every single of his fingers. Unfortunately, his previous righteous drifts had revealed to some people the extent of his gift, a supernatural force, which eventually led to hospitalization of a few thugs. In a nutshell, he had the capacity and the skills to be a superhero, but was too ashamed of his gift to use it that way, afraid that people might think he was some kind of abomination; and he was convinced that his true character was a soft and gentle one.

Prey to his usual inner conflict, he kept on pressing the keys motionlessly, like a robot. Printing once again a perfectly useless résumé, he got down, and took in a leash a gorgeous golden retriever, sticking out his pink tongue in excitation. He walked again in front of Natasha and Clint, still serving customers.

“Where are you going?” Clint asked.

“I’m gonna wander around the station area, I’ve noted a few vacant positions as a waiter, postman and seller. And I take the opportunity to walk Thor,” the blonde man answered, referring to the over-excited dog.

“Alright. Careful, there are some thugs rumored to be hanging around there.”

Steve left after greeting them in a scoff.

“You’re telling _him_ to be careful?” Natasha asked, incredulous.

***

_The day before, in the middle of the night_

            The room was plunged in the dark; not a single ray of any kind of light went through it. It was a luxurious room; and even if that didn’t mean much at night, the furniture was high quality, skillfully colored and arranged. Had it been daylight, one would have been enthralled by the ultra-modern and minimalistic decorating, as well as the huge bay windows that overlooked a little park where old people were usually strolling. But it was night. Deep, darkly blue in-which-everyone-was-wrapped-up-in-Morpheus’-arms _night_.

Which was why the phone ringing on the bedside table was odd. Even _rude_.

The man immersed in large blankets reacted like a robot, extending his arm to instinctively catch the phone, and mechanically took the call. He didn’t even say anything; he just waited to see who was calling him at that time of the night.

 

“ _I advise you to resign and sell the firm, Mr. Barnes,”_ a voice distorted by the mike on the device said. “ _It would annoy me to execute my threats. So take my words as a piece of advice, and do as I say. Otherwise, you’re going to… encounter difficulties in your daily life._ ”

The man still held on the phone, half-asleep, half-haggard. He finally spoke with a hoarse voice.

“You’re calling me at,” he paused to glance at the time on his phone, “ _three fucking AM_ to tell me this kind of bullshit? What the _fuck_ ”

He was grumbling like an old grandpa, voluntarily or not unaware of the seriousness of the situation. The unknown ominous voiced pursued, not understanding why this dumbass didn’t react to death threats.

“ _You don’t seem to grasp the depth of the problem, Mr-_ “

The man moved away the phone and hung up without further discussions. _God_ , had competitors no fucking decency? Now he was unable to get his daily nine hours of sleep. His life sucked so much.

***

The day after that, Mr. Barnes had been undeniably overtaken by the events, thinking about that mysterious night call as he took a walk in the park. Well, as he hoverboarded in the park. Standing on the motorized black board, his Paco Rabanne sunglasses on and hands in the pockets of his long dark topcoat, he wondered if he was ever going to be shot or poisoned at the young age of 25. Truly a shame, since he was heralded as the most influent young figure in Forbes. He indeed was a lucky bastard since he was born in a rich industrial family; but this company, _Asteria Corp_ , he had created it himself, alone; it was like his baby.

Thus, selling the firm was inconceivable, you madmen. And being endowed with exceptional phlegm, Mr. Barnes didn’t worry more than that.

Until he caught a glimpse of a man following him. He slowed down his hoverboard, and the man did the same. Looking through the smoked surface of his sunglasses sneakily, he was almost sure that this guy was the first step to intimidate him. Too bad he wasn’t easily intimidated.

He jumped off his board to leave it in the middle of a riverbank, running like a bat out of hell towards the mysterious man. The latter imitated him, but in the opposite direction, fleeing. He tried to push trash cans in his way, pushed unfortunate old people who were strolling in the park; but Mr. Barnes had the opportunity to learn more about his persecutor, and he was not going to miss it.

“Come back, you fucking asshole!”

Of course, the fucking asshole didn’t come back, and even ran faster. As he was taking a turn, he disappeared in the bushes. Mr. Barnes followed the same way, and found no one. He rushed inside public restrooms near the bushes to check every booth, almost tearing apart the dented turquoise doors. No one was to be found.

Catching his breath, infuriated and upset that he was unable to run faster, he gave up. For now. As he promised himself to start running one hour every day, he returned to the spot where he had left his hoverboard and continued his walk.

***

 

 

Steve’s application had been rejected at the post office, but he was hopeful; maybe the next restaurant was going to hire him. As he roamed the streets on his bicycle, his golden retriever’s leash attached to the handlebar, he got to the station neighborhood. Well, actually, he was a bit farther than that, close to the riversides and the industrial zone. With disused white buildings and warehouses, the area didn’t look quite enticing. A bare road was cutting across this sad landscape, on which _one_ bus usually went, heading for an activity center for children.

In fact, the bus was indeed taking the road, naturally faster than Steve on his bike. But as the bus driver made his way in there, he braked because of a parked car in the middle of the road. Steve couldn’t really see the scene, since he was taking his time on a bicycle and not preoccupied by the bus, and he also didn’t want to strangle Thor the golden retriever.

 

The bus driver honked a few times, utterly irritated. The children inside the bus were gasping and looking through the windows, gossiping about what was happening. Finally, a man wearing a black suit appeared; the bus driver got down and intended to have a word with him.

“ _Hey_! Are you the driver? Who left this car here? It’s a road, I need to get through!” he exclaimed.

“Turn around and take another road,” the man demanded. “This one is closed.”

“I can’t do that!” the bus driver retorted. “And you can’t do that either! What is wrong with you? Who allowed you to do this?”

“Listen, I really don’t wanna mess with an old geezer today, I got things to do. Just piss off.”

The old bus driver was in shock. He reached for his phone, outraged. “You leave me no choice. I’m calling the police!”

At that moment, the man in a suit pushed away his hand, knocking the phone who crashed on the ground. As the driver protested and got fired up, he pushed him violently on the chest, causing a brutal fall. The children inside the bus gasped and screamed.

“I _said_ the road is closed, for fuck’s sake,” the man kept on. “Now get the hell out of here or things are gonna go sour.”

Terrified, the old man remained lying on the ground, as one of his bones had probably been broken, if not several. But Steve had had the time to get closer and caught a glimpse of the scene.

“Hey! You in the suit!” he hollered. “What are you doing? You have no right to close the road!” he pursued, jogging towards the drama.

The man rolled his eyes, chewing on a gum. “Are y’all gonna piss me off today? The road is FUCKING CLOSED and anyone else who tries to get through will have problems, alright?!”

“On whose authority is it closed? There are no signs!” the blonde argued, his blood boiling. _Stay calm, this must not end in a hospital_.

The man in a suit got closer, and Steve could detail his prominent jaw covered by grey stubble, the scar on his temple and his cruel little eyes. He also had the nose of an eagle, which made sense in Steve’s head.

“You don’t wanna mess with us, kiddo. The road is closed on _Thanos’_ authority, AKA a man you don’t wanna meet in your daily life. I’m Rumlow, his henchman.”

“So, what, you’re a gang?”

“Pretty savvy for a brainless kid. Yeah. So get the hell out of here before I break your bones.”

Steve took out his phone, not in the least caring about what his interlocutor told him. He dialed the police number, but Rumlow grasped the device and threw it violently on the ground, making a shattering noise. He then proceeded to crush the already wrecked device with his foot.

“My phone!” Steve yelled. “I’m going to sue you!”

Rumlow kept on chewing on his gum, and smacked the blonde man in the face. “It’s a preview of what’ll happen next if you keep on crying like a pissbaby. Fuck off.”

 

The distant sound of a hoverboard was heard; Mr. Barnes was wandering in the same area as he noticed the stopped bus in the middle of the road. He got off his toy, and took a closer look of what was playing out between that blonde man and that other in a suit.

 

Steve had his head down, his brain processing the fact that this thug had _fricking slapped him_ , as well as he had pushed a helpless benevolent bus driver that was driving nice children to the center. Furthermore, his phone was now reduced to a pile of metal garbage.

Fully in control of himself, he straightened up, facing his opponent.

“What? You wanna play _superhero-villain_ game?” Rumlow gurgled.

He was welcomed with the most violent slap he must have received in his entire thug life, his head brutally turning right and a few of his teeth disengaging from his gums. He literally flew backwards, propelled by the raw power of the slap. He landed on a little sand dune, in a construction area. Steve was standing there, shaking his arm to warm himself up, and rubbing his cheek. The children inside the bus were yelling and cheering the blonde man, quite embarrassed to put on a show like this.

A dozen of men looking like Rumlow, previously hidden in a corner and waiting for their boss to get rid of the problem, had run towards the now sand-immerged man. Then, they all rushed in Steve’s direction, planning on beating the crap out of him, clutching truncheons, knives and metal bars. The blonde one defeated every single one of them, sometimes breaking arms that carried bayonets and headbutting them, sometimes grasping the metal bars to bend and ram them into their faces. He took out all of those wannabe thugs, sending out over-powerful punches, kicks, and slaps; the enemies went flying like their predecessor, and it was, indeed, raining men. The children kept on cheering and screaming, seeing their favorite superhero movie live. Steve turned around to face them, cracking a shy smile at first, then putting his finger on his mouth in a “secret” gesture. He rushed towards the bus driver, to make sure he wasn’t hurt.

 

Mr. Barnes had witnessed the scene, which consisted in _one blonde angelic man_ beating the shit out of a _dozen trained killers_ on his own. With bare hands. He was frozen, rooted in place, dead still. He wasn’t even widening his eyes in shock since he couldn’t believe what he saw. His mouth slightly ajar, he slowly took off his sunglasses and took out his phone to call the police.

***

 

            The police station was lively, as always; of course, _lively_ meant that presumed guilty people were shouting and crying, and police officers tried to quieten all of that in a jaded way. Steve didn’t feel at all at ease, he didn’t feel like he belonged here. And he didn’t. He faced a closed door, behind which he could hear the over-excited bubbling of children. Gathering all of his courage, he knocked and entered the room.

 

That’s when he saw her. Sitting behind a desk, taking depositions and hearing testimonies, she remained upright, looking regal, exhaling an agreeable perfume and a confident shining aura. The poise of her head had more composure than Steve’s entire life; her chocolate curls were cascading on her back, tied up in a perfect ponytail. She had dark but somehow fiery eyes that were lit up by focus, overlooked by long black lashes; and her carmine red lips were standing out of her porcelain complexion, well-defined and closed in a sign of attention. Her cheekbones could have sliced a man alive. Not only her cheekbones, actually.

 _Peggy Carter_. The ideal woman. The woman he had admired since high school.

Her clear and assertive voice brought him back to reality.

“Steve! Nice to see you, even under such circumstances. Sit down, if you will.”

“Hi, Peggy,” the blonde man said shyly. He did as he was told and sat in front of who he considered a living masterpiece.

“So, I’ve heard the testimonies of all witnesses present on the scene, but since you’re one of the main characters, I’d like to have your version of the story,” she said. “Come on, tell me about it, I’ll take notes.”

“Well, erm, I saw a bus… parked in the middle of the road. I worried. Then I caught a glimpse of a man in a suit. He was insulting and hustling the bus driver. Then…”

He glanced at the children who drank into his words, waiting for the continuation.

“Then I… tried to call the police, but the man crushed my phone. I didn’t want anything to do with violence, so I moved away. And then the dozen others arrived and started to fight each other.”

This declaration was followed by astonished gasps and shouts of disapproval. The dozen charged with assault tried to express their outrage and wrath through the unsteady bandages that covered their heads; but it only resulted in muffled sounds of dying cows. However, the children had all their voices.

“It’s not true! Mister superhero beat the first mean one, and then he beat all of the others!!!”

“He saved us!”

“He was super-duper strong!”

“He’s like the Expendables but only him!”

Peggy Carter rolled her eyes, half in fondness and half in weariness. “Alright, let’s hear another witness then.”

Without needing to knock apparently, Mr. Barnes, still dressed in his black topcoat and elegant jeans, with his brunette hair shining with warm undertones and perfectly-groomed stubble, entered the room, followed by another man. The latter stumbled right behind him, appearing a bit clumsy and awkward, and remained at the other side of the room while his boss was interrogated.

“Mr. James Barnes, is that right?” Peggy asked but with no doubts whatsoever.

“Yeah, it’s me. I saw the whole scene.”

Steve was staring at the newcomer as if he had two heads and eight legs; that is to say, panicked. The other had noticed. He sat down next to him to deliver his own version of the facts.

“I’ll borrow my neighbor’s words; there was an incident about an allegedly closed road and a gang. Except that they all had a disagreement about pushing the old bus driver on the ground. Thus, they started to fight and beat the crap out of each other.”

“Language, Mr. Barnes, there are children in this room.”

“Speaking of them, they probably hallucinated the whole scene. I mean. Kids nowadays? A disaster.”

The brunette got up, borrowing a brochure, and got closed to the said kids. “You’re saying that Mister Muscles here is the new Hulk?”

“No, he’s his own superhero! He’s Captain America!” a girl shouted.

“Very funny. What’s written on that?” the brunette asked while pointing at the brochure.

The kids looked at each other and shook their heads.

“See? They’re not even able to read yet. And you’d believe their testimonies?” he turned towards Agent Carter. “Lieutenant, those kids have their heads stuffed with myths and superheroes stories. _Avengers_ , and all that crap. I do hope you’re going to prefer two grown men’s testimonies rather than theirs.”

Everyone was silent for a second, before crying out again; children protested, and thugs too. Peggy just pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll get to decide that. However, that seems coherent. A single man, let alone _Steve_ , cannot cause such damage to a dozen trained assassins.”

Steve, who had anticipated the man’s words, now turned to face the brown-haired policewoman. He had actual hearts in his eyes. Of course Peggy knew him, she knew he was sensitive, delicate, completely opposed to violence; at least he wanted to appear like that in front of her. That’s how she had always known him. She released them both simultaneously.

“Bye Peggy, hope we can meet again,” the blonde one said on a smile. He was greeted by an invisible head nod as the woman picked up the phone to answer a very important call. It was fine. She’d always been like this.

 

            As Steve and Barnes got out, the brown-haired man stopped under the police station porch, his assistant next to him handing him his sunglasses, and held up the blonde.

“What? You’re going to leave without thanking me? When I actually went to testify and got you out of an embarrassing situation?” he shot.

Steve looked at him as he detached his dog’s leash, waiting outside.

“Why would I thank you? You would have been obliged to testify anyway, since you’re a witness of an assault scene. And yeah, no one will believe those kids. But no one will believe you either if you trumpet what you’ve seen. You said it yourself, there’s no such thing as this _Avengers_ crap.”

“I prevented you from getting charged with assault and battery, and that’s how you’re thanking me? Like, it’s a noble gesture, what I did.”

“A noble gesture?” Steve repeated while ironically chuckling. “A noble gesture would have been to help me get rid of those guys, instead of watching. To do something and be worthy. Anyway, bye.”

And upon those well-chosen words, he got on his bicycle, attached Thor’s leash on the handlebar and left. Barnes’ assistant was worried about his boss, since no one usually sassed him that way.

“Boss, are you alright?”

The brown-haired man had his mouth half-open, and took the sunglasses that were handed to him to put them on.

 

“What a unique way of thinking.”

“Yes, indeed-“

“That was so sexy.”

 

“I’m sorry what?!”

***


	2. Chapter 2

 

Steve got home, exhausted after this adventure. Especially exhausted after seeing Peggy; it had been a while since he had talked to her. She was very busy in her new job, after graduating at police school, she now had the security of an entire town within her hands. Well, not only hers, but she made a big difference; she was determined, strong-willed, pragmatic and selfless. On top of that, she was very beautiful. _Ah_ , Peggy.

He heard the familiar door bell tinkle as he entered _The Rush’_. It was approximately five o’clock PM, the shop was soon closing its doors. Natasha and Clint were still actively serving the last clients. Sam and Wanda were there too, sitting at a table, waiting for the two the couple to finish their shift. They seemed agreeably surprised; of course they were, Steve was kind of their brother.

“Hey! I asked Nat if I could eat with you tonight,” the dark-haired girl said while getting up. “They’re making _borsh_ and you know I can’t resist it.”

“How are you doing?” the blonde man asked.

“Pretty well, I could ask the same to you. How’s it going? Job hunting?”

Steve’s mind went blank. With everything that had happened today, he had completely forgotten to check the two restaurant that were left on the list that hired waiters. What an utter idiot! But at the same time, he had a pretty good reason.

“I’m here too, if anyone’s interested,” Sam said, deadpanned.

“I didn’t forget you Sam. I’m just wondering if Steve is having a seizure.”

“I’M FINE! I’m really fine. No, job hunting is not going well, I’ve been rejected in 25 places. And today was a pretty tough day.”

The dark-skinned man and the girl looked at each other. “There’s something you want to tell us about?”

“Erm… Don’t say it to Tasha. Please.”

“What, you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” Sam asked. Wanda’s smile grew wide, gasping in anticipation.

“Nooo, not at all. I… was at the police station earlier,” he confessed.

“Shit, dude, what did you do?!”

“Nothing wrong, I swear! I… may have helped an old man that was getting bugged by thugs.”

Wanda looked him dead in the eye. “How many spines have you broken, approximately?”

“I don’t know, but listen, he crushed my phone, and then he slapped me, _worse_ , he pushed this old man!” Steve defended himself.

“How many?”

“Thirteen, roughly.”

“ _Shit_ dude!” Sam exclaimed again. “You’re getting better. I guess I’ll be busy at radiology tomorrow.”

Wanda hit him in the arm, telling him to stop encouraging the blonde man. “And what did they say at the police station? Do they know about your superpowers?”

“For the last time, Wanda, it’s _not_ superpowers. It’s a pain in the ass,” Steve sighed.

“Well _they_ should be saying that, cuz I think you kicked their ass pretty well. So, do they know?”

Steve remained silent for a second, ogling the delicious walnut pie that Sam was eating. He told him to finish the rest or he’d feel guilty. “A man I don’t know actually endorsed my version of the facts, in which I obviously lied. That was weird, because I don’t know him at all, and he wanted me to thank him in the end.”

“Holy crap, you’re lucky! I hope you _did_ thank him after that,” the brown-haired girl said.

“Nope. I told him that if he really wanted thanks, he should have helped me instead of standing in the back. I felt pretty cool after that.”

Sam hit the back of his head. “You fucking dumbass!!! He’s helping you and you’re insulting him?! Do you even have a brain back there? _Dang_ , he’s tiring me out, I give up.”

As the two boys squabbled like children, Wanda rested her chin on her palm, covered by fingerless gloves upon a dark red long-sleeved shirt. Her pale eyes circled by eyeliner were focusing on what Steve had said; she prepared to say something triggering.

“Isn’t Peggy working at the police station in that area now?”

Steve was a bit speechless, he didn’t expect Wanda to be that farsighted. Sometimes, he wondered if she was some kind of witch. His eyes got all dreamy.

 

“Mm, yes, she is. Why?”

“Don’t play smart with me, you know damn why,” she shot. “You still have that lovestruck high schooler crush on her?”

The blonde man blinked, and his eyes feigned to widen. “ _Me_? A crush on Peggy whereas I’m 25? Please.”

Sam and Wanda glared at him, not in the least surprised. “You’re such a terrible liar. Your nose is already stretching out. It’s time to move on, Stevie.”

“I _told_ you, I’m not crushing on Peggy! She’s really beautiful and smart and confident but I’d never… like… be in love with her.”

“Yeah, sure” Sam deadpanned.

A phone ring dinged in the almost empty coffee shop; it was Natasha’s. The red-head took the call, and chatted a bit with the interlocutor. Then she almost had a heart attack.

“ _WHAT?!_ The POLICE STATION?!” she gasped. “Steve, you owe me some fucking explanation. Get your ass back here.”

The blonde man let his head fall down on the table, defeated, and got up. “No, no, I’m not angry,” Natasha’s voice said, “Proof is, I’ll put him on. Yeah. Yeah. Tell him.”

He took the phone and awaited the voice. “ _Hello, Steve_?”

It was Peggy’s voice. Steve cracked this dumb typical smile, and started to pace, the phone in one hand. Wanda and Sam still watched him with a mix of despair and pity.

“Yeah, erm, it’s me. Did I do something wrong?”

“ _Not at all. I just wanted to tell you about the lads you saw today, I have some info about them._ ”

“Really? Is it serious?”

“ _Yes, quite. I’ve done a bit of a research, and it would seem that they’re part of a gang, run by a certain “Thanos”. They’re dangerous. Don’t ever get near them again._ ”

Steve’s heart fluttered a little; Peggy was worried about him. Maybe she didn’t want to appear unprofessional at work, and now she was making sure that her little Stevie was not endangered. She was so cool, maintaining that cold and impenetrable façade, but actually caring about others. She had a heart of gold, but didn’t want to flaunt it, and to make people uncomfortable. She was probably a bit bashful, and it was contrary to her regal appearance to let her feelings go wild. _Ah_ , she was so cool.

“ _Did you hear me?_ ”

“Yes, absolutely. I’ll be careful, I don’t wanna worry you for nothing. Don’t worry about me.”

“ _I’m not. I’m just telling you what I would have told anyone._ ”

“Haha, of course, but please don’t worry too much about me anyway, haha. I won’t worry about you in any case. I’m sure you-“

“ _Alright then. Good evening._ ”

“I’ve even got-“

 _Bip. Bip._ She had hung up. But Steve was still pacing around, the phone in his hand, feigning to be upset. “She could at least tell me goodbye properly. Even if she’s too cool for that,” he whispered to himself like a 13-year-old teenage girl persuading herself of her crush’s love. Wanda and Sam were still looking at him. The dark-skinned man facepalmed as Steve turned around.

***

 

James Barnes skimmed through a document, which consisted in a dozen résumés that depicted different profiles. Still perfectly dressed up, slumped on his armchair, one leg crossed over the other, he turned the pages while reading aloud the most important points. His secretary was next to him, still waiting on his hand and foot.

“Mm… Drax Bautista, AKA _the Destroyer_ – nice – second place in Bogota’s boxing Contest, practicing capoeira and taekwondo.”

He flipped through another page.

“Brunhilde Vallas, 9th Dan in karate, third place at London’s Olympics in boxing, practices Muay Thai, Judo and Ju-jitsu. Interesting.”

He flipped through another page.

“Wong Kan, professional in the art of Wing Chun, Sanshou and Hapkido. Not bad.”

His mind wandered a bit. It’s not that he wasn’t interested in those profiles, but he wasn’t.

“Boss, have you chosen a guy? It’s kind of urgent,” his assistant said.

Barnes was still slumped on the chair, head upwards, looking at the ceiling. He needed that bodyguard, or else he was gonna die soon. At least that’s what he believed. The threats were more and more frequent; once a day, as he entered his office, the TV was on with a death message. He didn’t appear that much affected, but sure, he’d sleep better if he had someone tough and ruthless by his side. Suddenly, he mentally saw the blonde benevolent man that had saved children, and accessorily beat the shit out of a dozen trained assassins with no weapons and no gear. Even though the profile was a bit faraway from what he initially planned, he felt like he wouldn’t feel safe with anyone else than him. _Strictly physically speaking_.

Barnes threw the files on his office desk, lifting his head as if he’d had an epiphany. He pointed his finger at his assistant.

“Scott, find me that blonde dude.”

The secretary zoned out a little, his blank stare glued to the previously-ditched document. “I dug up the best fighters in the world for you, and you want that blonde cookies selling-looking guy?”

“You got a problem with that?”

“He shaded you like no one else did before. He’ll never accept working for you!” Scott pleaded. He was clearly fed up with his boss’s incessant and wacky demands.

“I’d like to remind you that you’re my assistant AKA my secretary thus upon my orders. Also you should know that I’m a born-rich kid, which justifies the fact that I have cockamamie requests,” the brown-haired man said flatly. “Find that dude, no matter what, and persuade him to become my bodyguard.”

Scott protested. “I’m your secretary, not your stooge! And why do you want him particularly? Do you like being roasted on a daily-basis?!”

Barnes got up, hands in his pockets, chuckling. “Listen, I never considered you a stooge. You know you love me.”

“I _really_ don’t.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not.”

“ _Whatever_ , find that man, Scott. Please. I feel really paranoid, I want a bodyguard as soon as possible. Go to the police station, ask his name, address, phone number. Convince him that I’m a charming and agreeable young man,” he ordered.

Scott stifled a guffaw. “I’ll persuade him with a juicy paycheck, if you don’t mind.”

***

“According to the title 18 part 5 chapter 601 paragraph 6002 of the United States Code concerning the immunity of witnesses, I am in the juridical incapacity to give you the name, address and phone number of a witness. Also, I don’t want to.”

Such were the words of the implacable brown-haired policewoman. Scott was sitting in front of her, like a chump.

“Listen, you don’t understand, I have a job offer for him, it’s very… appealing,” he pleaded. “My boss wants him to-“

Peggy cut him off. “It’s _you_ who don’t understand. Let me remind you one more time that you appear to be in a police station. I cited the US Code to prove you that what you’re asking is illegal. Non-compliant with the law. And _dura lex, sed lex_. Now get out, I’ve got work to do.”

***

The secretary had his boss on the phone, almost crying. “I did everything I could, but she’s just merciless! I mean, technically she’s right, but nothing can make her change her mind! Also, I suspect that she personally knows the man and wants to keep his identity unknown.”

A low-tone humming was heard through the phone. “Mm. Right. That’s what I feared. _Tss_ , I didn’t want to resort to legally questionable means, but she leaves me no choice.”

“Didn’t you hear a word of what I said?!”

 

Barnes was yet again in his office, where he clearly spent most of his time. His secretary had come back, standing next to him. The brown-haired CEO sunk in one of his comfy black leather sofas, facing a new interlocutor: the man was close to be 50-years old, his hair greying but still displaying signs of vigor. He had a police uniform with an array of medals and distinguishing marks on shoulder pads.

“Thanks for coming, commissioner Tivan,” Barnes began. “I’ve heard that you’re in charge of this city’s police station, right?”

“I am, Mr. Barnes. Please pass my best regards to your father,” he cooed a bit shallowly. Indeed, his rich and influent father had helped the commissioner a few years ago, he didn’t remember how. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m going to be a little straightforward. I need you to find someone for me. Don’t worry, it’s not about industrial espionage, I want to grant him a job,” the CEO asserted. “My secretary, who is present here, found himself incapable of obtaining his name and phone number because of – or thanks to – agent Carter,” he explained.

The commissioner chuckled, looking down and shaking his head slightly. “Of course. You don’t know agent Carter, she is as tough as nails, probably among the best in here. _Badass_ , as the youth would say.”

“Can you tell me about her?”

“Well, she was even rewarded with a nickname by petty crime. _Real Steel_. You know, like this movie with Hugh Jackman-“

“I get the idea, yes,” interrupted the brown-haired man, wanting to move on. “And among the police?”

The commissioner laughed. “Let’s just say that she’s feared in her own department. She is rumored to have dressed up as an Italian mafioso, to have lived within a mafia for two weeks, and then took off her wig and mustache to shoot everybody in the room. Without killing them, of course, because she likes to see the bad guys rot in prison. She considers death a too sweet sentence in general.”

 

Scott slowly turned his head towards his boss, a frozen smile on his lips. _I could have died earlier._ Barnes raised his eyebrows, his chin resting on his palm, and sunk farther in the sofa. “No wonder that she didn’t give you anything,” he commented to his secretary’s intent. The man concerned retained himself from slapping his boss.

“But if you’re in trouble, I can have the info,” the commissioner declared.

“That’d be amazing, yes.”

***

            Steve checked his new phone, that he had to buy because “Rumlow the thug” had smashed the previous one last time. He had received an imploring text, making use of all valedictions possible in the English language; the sender had identified himself as _Scott Lang_ , _Mr. Barnes’ secretary in Asteria Corp._ The blonde man rolled his eyes, but still opened it. He also thought about the fact that he was completely moneyless and down-and-out, at least without Nat and Clint’s help. He was tired of being a burden for them, who already didn’t earn a lot of money.

 

One hour later, he was sitting in a charming coffee shop, sipping on a cocktail, the most expensive on the drinks menu, at ten o’clock. It was his interlocutor who had paid for it.

Scott the secretary was facing the tall blonde, there again modestly dressed. If he was going to be a bodyguard, he could at least dress in a suit. But he had to begin with some buttering up.

“So, I called you here and disturbed your daily job-hunting routine-“

Steve glared at him, chewing on his straw.

“- to offer you a full-time work at Asteria Corp,” he concluded.

The blonde studied the proposition, slumped in the armchair in an attempt of intimidation. “How did you find me?”

Scott mumbled something. Soon summoned to explain in detail, he exposed the draft of a justification. “Erm, we are specialized in new technologies, so finding you wasn’t much of an enormous problem, especially in an all-connected world like ours.”

This caused a regain of attention from the other. “Really? What field exactly? I’d like to know for whom I’m going to work.”

“So you accept our offer?!”

“No, I asked you what you are precisely specialized in.”

The assistant tried to remain calm. For God’s sake, people would usually kill to get a job in this firm. Had this man no decency, no common sense?

“My boss first created this firm in the video games field,” he affirmed. “He wanted to breathe fresh air into something he had always liked. This started out as a graphic designer company, and games creation later. Then, being passionate about graphics, he began to diversify his activities and now, the firm generally produces merchandising for big block-busters, or other clients, as well as furniture, et cetera. In short, it’s about creating things linked to pop culture. It's hard to explain in two sentences.”

Steve was now a bit more interested. “So your employees are graphic designers? Do they draw on a daily basis?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to your I-hope-soon-to-be job, but yes, we hire artists, designers and professionals in computing.”

The blonde’s heart jumped a little; he was proposed a full-time job, in one of the apparently most prominent company, probably well-paid, and who knows, maybe he could be hired as a designer? By the way, what was exactly the job? Maybe they had contacted him after spying on his work? He hoped they didn’t see any compromising drawings. Even if anything can be art after all. But, you know, drawing Peggy and that stuff. He wasn’t a stalker, he just marveled at people’s beauty.

“What is the exact content of the job you’re offering me, Mr. Lang?” he inquired. That was already a victory in his interlocutor’s head.

“Well, Mr. Rogers, I’m glad you’re asking. You’ve been selected to be the bodyguard of the loveliest and most exquisite CEO, Mr. Barnes.”

 

Steve’s mind went a bit blank. His brain was already caught up in a lot of stressful situations; he didn’t need another one. The black plastic straw was poking his upper lip, parted in apathy, as he was glaring at the other with dead eyes. “A… _bodyguard_?”

“That’s right. You won’t have to do much, just stay at Mr. Barnes’ side all day, and then go home,” Scott added, aware of the blonde’s shock. “It’s an amazing opportunity, especially for a unemploy-“

“A BODYGUARD?” he reiterated but with a few more decibels. He regretted it as people looked at him, and got closer to the assistant, bending his chest upon the table. “Have you _looked_ at me? I’m not made to be a… damn bodyguard!”

“With all due respect, my boss saw you take apart twelve trained thugs. You seem fit for the job.”

“I… he’s lying! Didn’t you hear his testimony at the police station?”

“You confirmed the opposite under the porch before you roasted him,” he reminded.

“I didn’t… _roast_ him as you say… I don’t even like barbecues.”

Scott scoffed, and took a sheet of paper out of his jacket. That was his convincing argument.

“I’d like to add that for this modest job, you will be paid approximately 3,000 $ a month. Without the bonuses.”

This time, Steve’s brain didn’t process the information because it was good. _3,000 $ is a lot of money. Money is multiplied every month. Money can be exchanged for goods and services. Money is good._

“M-monthly?”

“Monthly.”

“Without bonuses?”

“Without bonuses. Which can amount to, in average, 15,000 $ a year,” Scott confirmed.

The blonde man was star-truck; he had to lean back a little, putting his drink on the table. Eyes wide, mouth ajar, he had trouble to hide his surprise as he sunk into the comfortable beige seat. He saw through dollar-green tainted glasses. “That’s… fitting. Even… pleasant.” He’d be able to pay back Clint and Natasha, who had lodged him for years ever since he had gotten out of high-school. They had cooked for him, paid for his three squares a day, and emotionally supported him; indeed, one could not only think in terms of materiality criteria. He’d been incredibly lucky, and right now, he couldn’t spit on such an attractive job offer; he needed money, and he also kind of needed to do something with his life. Even if he had wished he’d be able to rescue widows and orphans as an occupation, he’ll get pretty close to his ideal of justice by protecting someone.

The problem was that it wasn’t _someone_ ; it was this surly and condescending brown-haired Paco Rabanne sunglasses-wearing schmuck. Well. He was going to make an effort. He’ll just have to follow that dude everywhere like a little dog, and to flick people who got too close to him. Easy, it was easy money.

“Alright, I accept your offer,” the blonde declared. “But you better keep your promises.”

Scott made a cross gesture. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, _amen_. You’ll be the one to thank me later, I guarantee you that.”

***

_In Steve’s neighborhood, Bel-Air district, late in the evening_

 

            The night was chilly; even in April, the air’s temperature had decreased, and one needed to wear at least a sweatshirt to get out. The sky was soaked in black, as if it had been dipped in ink, sometimes spruced up by a few greyish meager clouds. The only source of light came from street lamps, since the moon was shrouded in the dark.

            A girl was walking the avenue that led to a small side street, carrying her bag inside her elbow and trying to keep both eyes open. She hadn’t drunk that much, being reasonable, aware of the fact that she’d have to walk a little after getting out of the bus. But the neighborhood wasn’t disreputable, unlike the train station area; she had followed that path a thousand times without being even harangued ever since she lived here. You mustn’t be paranoid, otherwise you’re never able to live your life to the fullest! Consequently, she kept on walking peacefully, glancing from on time to another towards the closed shops and trees.

She was extremely tired though. And exhaustion had the same effects as alcohol, if we think about it. Hopefully, her apartment was only two blocks away; she just had to turn left and get to the end of the str-

The woman heard a rustling. As if leaves were lifted by a gust of wind. She kept on walking, wanting to get home soon. Another noise resounded, this time sounding like steps. She turned around just to make sure she wasn’t followed.

The street was empty, lit up by amber rays. Of course, she had yet again overreacted. The woman was almost home, only walking by a park.

 

A hooded man coming out of a bush hurled himself on her. Her muffled screams were soon dying out, as her struggle appeared useless against the man’s strength. They fought for an entire minute, the woman desperately trying to hit her abuser. But the man was taller, broader and stronger than her. Though he still reached for his knife.

The woman was defending herself tooth and nail, biting and clawing the abuser. The man had had enough.

He grasped the weapon and struck.

***

 

Steve got up thanks to his morning alarm, emitting a sound akin to birds’ chirping and water flowing. He was overexcited to go to work for the first day; jumping out of his bed, he brushed his teeth, did his hair properly, and spent the rest of the time choosing what he was going to wear in order to look presentable. After dithering for almost half an hour, he set his sights on charcoal slim fitting trousers, a bit flared at the ankles, with a light-blue shirt under a thin black jersey, displaying the shirt’s collar and sleeves, especially when rolled-up. He paired the outfit with a midnight blue suit jacket, the only one he owned actually, and walnut-colored denim boots. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he thought he didn’t look that bad.

He rushed down the stairs to run by Clint, Natasha and Sam eating breakfast, only to filch a slice of bread and drink a glass of orange juice. Blurting a quick “see you tonight” with his mouth full, he pushed the door, jumped on his bicycle and headed off to work. The rest of the family peacefully resumed breakfasting.

 

 

            The building that displayed the transparent letters “ _ASTERIA”_ was huge. Approximately a hundred meters high, and long by fifty, it let the sunlight inside the windows and lit up a classy contemporary interior with grey sofas, white walls, glossy service counters and high-tech time clock, consisting in metal gantries activated by employee cards. Steve didn’t have the time to get off his bike that he was welcomed by Scott Lang, the assistant, in his dashing three-pieces suit. Well, welcomed was a nice word.

“I’ve been waiting outside this building for an hour! Just, get in, quick!”

The blonde couldn’t even retort that he was _on time_ and was pushed inside the great hall. As the CEO would consider his application and only him, the secretary left him inside an elevator, alone, and indicated the office’s location. After checking that the wooden door really displayed the word _President_ , he knocked and entered.

The guy was indeed waiting for him, seated in his leather armchair which probably amounted to Clint and Natasha’s rent, perfectly dressed up in a black turtleneck with a wool-adorned camel jacket. His chocolate hair was pulled back in a tiny bun and cleared his sharp features; he had pale blue eyes, lighter than Steve’s, and a clean stubble. He stood up, hands still in his pockets, and walked towards his favorite sofa.

“Good morning. Please, have a seat,” he gestured at the couch. The blonde complied and sat down, in front of the CEO.

“Rogers. Steve? Is that right?” he inquired.

“Yes, it’s me. I’ve come for the intervie-“

“I know, show me your résumé,” the man cut in.

 _Alriiiiiiight, guess we’re gonna be thick as thieves._ He handed the document covered by a blue plastic folder, and the other took it.

“Mm. A folder for two sheets of paper, that’s a bit much,” he chuckled. “Hand me the pages next time.”

 _I’m gonna hand you those hands, you asshole._ Steve refrained himself from rolling his eyes.

“Sooooo, you’ve worked as a waiter, mover… _PE teacher_?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. It’s atypical, shows that you’re quite multi-skilled,” the CEO jested. “You studied art apparently?”

“Yes, because I like to draw in my spare time. Please, just get to the point,” the blonde pleaded, not sure of being able to hold back a pretty-well deserved slap.  

“Mm, I’d like to remind you that I’m your potential boss, thus _I_ am the one who gives orders.”

“And since you’re only my _potential_ boss, I can do whatever I want to do,” Steve shot. “Plus, I’m pretty sure you went to great lengths to find me. So I’m kind of in a powerful position, pardon the expression.”

 

Barnes was taken aback by such boldness. Proof was, he didn’t come up right away with a sassy and savvy comeback, for the second time in a week. _Right, he’s that kind of guy._ The corner of his mouth slightly turned upwards to hide his astonishment, he sighed and let the folder fall flat on the table, in a popping noise. Steve followed the fall with his eyes, aware that he maybe went a bit far for the first promising job interview he’d had in years. But this dude was unbearably arrogant and despising, and it was driving him crazy! If he unfortunately became his _bodyguard_ , he sure would teach him proper manners. Duh.

“Well, speaking of power…” the brown-haired man began. “Let’s arm wrestle.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Let’s arm wrestle. You know, the game where you try to put my elbow down on the table,” he said as he took the pose, resting his arm on the low table, visibly taking the other for a fool. Steve sighed and shook his head. “It’s not a mature way of testing my skills, you know,” he deadpanned.

“Maybe. Come on, do it.”

 

The blonde mirrored his interlocutor’s posture, gripping his hand vigorously. Their elbows were on the table, forming a “ _w_ ”.

“You try to push down my arm,” Barnes said. There was a blank.

“No. _You_ try.”

The CEO stifled a laugh, unable to believe that this guy had the nerve, _the audacity_ to talk down to him. Jeez, he’d better prove himself a worthy bodyguard. He began to push the blonde’s arm.

It was as still as a rock. As hard too. He pushed harder, clenching his teeth, a strand of his chocolate hair falling on his temple. The other was almost yawning in boredom, side-eying him with a smug but discreet smile. _What the hell? He’s really born with superpowers? Does he actually have a non-human strength? How’s that possible? I have pretty good biceps, he’s not even flinching!_

“You can use the other hand, if you want,” Steve advised.

“Very funny, I’m never gonn-“

He interrupted himself to throw his second hand on the very still arm, pushing with all his might, taking advantage of what he thought would be a diversion. But to no avail. As he was turning red because of the effort, looking like a ridiculous tomato, Steve decided to give a slight push and literally slammed the man’s arm on the glass table, making a rattling sound. Barnes stifled a pained moan, standing up as fast as lightning to diminish the risk of Steve seeing him affected. He trotted towards his desk, leaving the other on the couch.

“A-a-alright, you’re pretty good, I guess I’ll give it a shot!”

Steve stood up as well, imitating the CEO. Just as he pronounced those words, Scott barged in the office, slamming open the door. Startled, Steve turned around and slammed his elbow in the poor secretary’s ribs, propelling him across the room as if he had a Scott-Lang-launch weapon. The assistant crashed into the wall, in a monstrously loud noise, breaking the perfectly smooth concrete and Steve’s hopes of being delicate. He then fell down like a hot potato on the ground, as the blonde one rushed towards his flat body, almost crying.

“DEAR GOD!!! I’m so sorry!!! I don’t know what to say, you startled me and then I turned around and we had just arm wrestled so I had my elbow ready-“ he cried out.

 _He’s the one. Even if there are some points to correct, starting with that attitude. He’s either too soft or too sassy_ , Barnes thought.

As the paramedics entered the room to rescue the rag that had become Scott, accompanied with Steve’s sorry moans, the TV in the office was turned on.

The screen was at first tainted in white; then, a skull appeared, slowly drawn in black “paint”. A message blinked under it. Steve didn’t know which way to look anymore, there was too much happening.

Barnes had regained his composure, though. He detailed the screen and read aloud. “Resign or die.” It was yet again one of those threatening texts. Steve let the paramedics do their job after apologizing one more time and got closer to the brunette.

“What’s this?”

“The reason you’re hired,” he confirmed. “I’ve been receiving those for about a week. It’s on the TV, my computer screen and other platforms at the firm. My phone is safe for now.”

The blonde’s eyes were glued to the TV. “Is this what… Mr. Lang wanted to tell us so abruptly?”

“Most likely, yes. Anyway, welcome to Asteria! Hope you’re thrilled to work here. All the more that you get to be with me all day long. And the other days.”

Steve made a face, feigning – or maybe not – disgust. “I’ll do what I can.”

“No, you’ll do your _best_. And that means smashing the bad guys who want me dead like you did with Scott.”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!!!”

“But you did. At least, now I’m certain that you have some kind of extra-terrestrial super strength,” the brown-haired man blustered. It really bothered Steve.

“Please, don’t divulge it. It’s private.”

“No problem. I wouldn’t want to end like Scott, in any case.”

“I TOLD YOU I DIDN’T MEAN TO!!!”

Barnes had the time of his life. He was delighted to bother that false-angelic blonde dude, and at the same time sure to feel safe with him around. _Physically speaking, of course_. A sly smile plastered on his face, he took the remote to put on the news.

“ _-at nine o’clock, and the investigation is still ongoing. To sum up once again the facts, the lifeless body of a 24-year-old woman was found in the neighborhood of Bel-Air, allegedly dead because of a stab wound inflicted by her aggressor. The police will give a conference later to list evidence and make a profile. For now, police officers have advised young women to not wander in the neighborhood at night unaccompanied. And now, the weather-“_

The journalist’s speech was punctuated with images of said area, zooming on a park and displaying yellow safety cords around a particular spot. Those words hit Steve in the face, captivated by the screen as soon as he heard his neighborhood’s name. His lips parted in apprehension, he recognized the familiar baker across the park where he walked Thor the Labrador.

“Shit, this is horrible. That’s why I hate the news, always dreadful info,” Barnes commented.

“Mr. Barnes, this is my neighborhood,” Steve mumbled, eyes wide. “Can I just make a phone call to my family? They live three blocks away from this park.”

The CEO glanced at the blonde, a bit confused but understanding. “Right, erm, yeah of course, don’t ask.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes,” the blonde whimpered while taking out his phone. The other man tried to hold him a little with his arm extended.

“Also, don’t call me Mr. Barnes, it makes me feel old as balls. Just call me James. Or Bucky.”

Steve kept the phone in his hand, wanting to chuckle among all of this horror. “Why Bucky?”

“Middle name’s Buchanan, I know, it’s lame. Just call me James.”

The blonde grinned. “Understood, Bucky.” And he dialed Natasha’s number, as the CEO facepalmed.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing against Scott I swear, I find him so funny. But he's been chosen for the role of the comic relief I guess!


	3. Chapter 3

 

            His family was alright, and that was all that mattered. _No_. Other people mattered too. Steve felt completely disheartened when he thought about the girl’s family, and of course, the greatest victim: the girl herself. He’d have to analyze this later.

Indeed, he was too busy tagging along with a certain idle and cocky CEO, who only seemed to be preoccupied with the kind of shirt he was going to pair up with such dashing jeans. The brown-haired man, still wearing his favorite sunglasses even though the sky was quite grey, held two hangers in his hands. The saleswoman was in front of him, amazingly attired in a black suit; she embodied the luxurious dimension of the shop. By the way, Steve didn’t feel at ease.

“Do you need help to choose, sir?” her crystalline voice inquired.

“Yeah, actually,” Bucky said. “I have that dashing emerald coat that is quite flashy and I’d like to know which one of those shirts could be paired up with it, without looking like a harlequin.”

She smiled and chuckled, giving him the best advice. For the time being, Steve was getting really fed up with this bullshit. What kind of work day was that? They had been shopping for two hours now. Had this dude no files to read, or meetings to attend to?

“Thanks for everything!” his voice interrupted Steve’s chastising thoughts. He carried four heavy bags that he handed right away to the blonde man, as they both got out of the shop.

“No offence, but what do you actually do with your days? Shopping?” he shot.

The brunette looked down at him, his eyes appearing above the shades. “I’ll have you know that I’m the president of a successful global corporation. Thus I got nothing to do if making sure I stay alive. Which is, for two hours, your mission, by the way.”

Steve rolled his eyes and sighed. “So that’s what you do? _Shopping_? And you’re paid for it?”

“Genius is remunerated, what can I say. You want some ice cream?”

The blonde repressed an ironic laugh under the bags he was carrying for Mister Genius. “What are you, twelve?”

“On a ten scale, yeah. Strawberry or chocolate?”

“What if I want vanilla?”

“Then no ice cream for you,” the brunette ridiculously shot.

 

They ended up in a park, sitting on a bench, licking ice cream like kids. Well, only Bucky was on the bench, Steve holding still his cone, unable to believe that he _actually bought fucking ice cream_ , standing next to him.

“You like suffering?” the CEO asked referring to his standing position.

“What, you’re gonna fault me for doing my job, unlike you? I want to earn my money, not let it fall on my shoulders.”

Bucky hummed in agreement, unbearably nonchalant, licking his lips. “What a noble behavior. Yet again, we find ourselves in the same situation: me the lazy but handsome guy, and you the chivalrous angel dude.”

“Is working _chivalrous_ for you?! Did you ever work in your life?” the blonde exclaimed.

The brunette nibbled on the damp cone. “Not really, in fact. My parents were rich so there weren’t many problems with my living standards. Well, there is one: no one other than me can match them. In a nutshell, yeah, I don’t work that much. But if you want to _earn your money_ then, I won’t hold you back.”

That was a lot of information for Steve to absorb in one shot. But he wasn’t really surprised with the outcome; of course this guy was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. But at least, he recognized it. Although Steve would never give him the satisfaction to be aware of that.

The CEO briskly got up, finishing the ice cream and munching the cone. “Anyway, I think it’s time to go home. We’ve had a pretty rough day. I’m gonna drive you home. Show me the way.”

“What? No, I’ve got my bike at the building-“

“No prevarication, we’ll get it and then I’ll drive you. I like driving anyway.”

Arguing with him was useless, the blonde thought. So they did as he said, Steve putting the bicycle in the trunk of a splendid Italian car, a _Maserati_ , he read. Shit. In what kind of Nouveau Riche hell had he ended up?

He got inside the marvelous vehicle, and put his bum on the black leather passenger seat. Once again, he thought about the reason this guy wanted to drive him home; things were becoming awkward in his head. However, things didn’t have the time to get awkward with Bucky since he always avoided odd silences by telling stupid jokes, or by turning up his favorite Britney Spears hits like no one else did. He was truly a source of embarrassment. But at least, Steve thought about something else than the gruesome story in his neighborhood.

The car stopped in front of _The Rush_.

“Well, I don’t know what to say-“

“Start with ‘ _thank you for driving me safely home’_ and that’ll be a nice beginning,” Bucky said, always snarky.

“I’d like to remind you that _I am_ the one supposed to protect you,” the blonde protested as he opened the door.

“True. And you are doing a terrible job. Hope you’ll improve your skill tomorrow. Be there at nine!”

And as Steve held onto his bike freshly removed from the trunk, the CEO raised his sunglasses, blasted _Womanizer_ awfully loud and stepped on the gas. The blonde was already exhausted, and he had only spent three hours with whom he was supposed to bodyguard. Wait, that verb sounded weird. Brushing the thoughts of his brain, he pushed the glass door that emitted that familiar bell ring. Natasha jumped on him.

“STEVE! Who was that? Is he your boss? Did he accept your application? Are you now working for him?”

He was surrounded by three excited figures, Tasha, Wanda and Sam. Clint was holding back.

“Alright, everyone calm down,” he pleaded. “In order: that was Mr. Barnes, yes he’s my boss, yes he logically enough accepted my application, and yes I’m working for him.” He felt like a celebrity circled by paparazzi. “Wait, why are you making such a big deal out of this?!”

Indeed, they were all squeaking like chickens. “I didn’t know me getting a job would make you that happy,” he laughed.

“Are you fucking blind?! Did you see his fucking car?!!” The red-head yelled.

“Nat, please, no swear words,” Clint whispered, perfectly aware of the fact that nobody listened to him.

Steve pushed back Tasha, closing his eyes to regain composure. “Yeah, yeah, I even got inside,” he jested. “Sorry to disappoint you, it’s not a Bentley.”

“Don’t play smart, you dickhead,” she answered. “And that is not all. He’s really in charge of the firm?”

“ _Yes_ , I told you twice, James Barnes is the CEO of Asteria Corp. Wh-“

“He must be fucking rich as hell, that’s what I’m saying! And did you even watch his face?!”

“Why would I do that?” Steve whimpered. Wanda barged in.

“Well, he’s smoking hot, and we only saw him through car windows!”

Natasha approved her words. “You’re really a dumbass. Wanda and Sam see it too. That guy is our salvation.”

“ _Salvation_?! What did you put in those fricking tarts?” Steve chocked on his own saliva. Sam cared to detail her way of thinking.

“See Stevie, he’s our 1) _financial salvation_ because he’s rich, and 2) _relationship salvation_ because he’s gonna save us from the disaster that you are, marrying you and all that stuff,” he calmly explained.

If the blonde had almost chocked on his own saliva, now he was certainly swallowing his tongue. He widened his eyes like a carp. “What the hell?! What kind of bull-“

“Hey Steve, no fucking swearing in this motherfucking house,” Natasha barked.

“Wonder who I got it from.”

“Anyway, hope you’ll marry him soon so we can inherit the wealth, plus he’s good-looking, he’ll make family pictures seem acceptable,” she deadpanned.

“ _I AM NOT_ \- alright, it doesn’t matter, let’s talk about something else,” Steve despaired. “Shouldn’t you all be talking about the tragedy of last night, instead of bothering me with stupid stuff?”

Of course, the reference to the poor girl’s murder put a damper on the atmosphere. Wanda looked down, deeply affected by the dreadful crime. “It’s just so hard to believe… This neighborhood is so quiet and peaceful, I never thought that kind of stuff would happen here. Plus, the police giving advice for young girls is a bit frightening…” she whimpered.

“Especially that this poor girl was completely normal, she didn’t have any particular enemies who’d want to… do this,” Sam added. “It’s really one hell of a psychopath.”

“Hope the police will find him the son of a bitch, so he can rot in prison,” Natasha wished.

As they were talking about the event, Steve’s phone rang. He moved away a little, pacing in the back of the shop, the phone stuck on his ear.

“Yes?”

“ _Steve, it’s me again._ ”

It was Peggy. Steve’s heart missed a beat.

“Oh, I didn’t know you’d call at this hour, I-“

“ _I called because I know you live in Bel-Air. I’m sure you must have heard about what happened to Jane Brock?_ ”

The blonde sighed. “So that’s her name. Yeah, of course I’ve heard, it’s abominable.”

“ _Well, this is the first culpable homicide that has been reported in this area since… 1962,”_ she asserted. “ _Needless to say, this is very unusual. I can’t tell you about the investigation, but be sure to be careful at night in your neighborhood. And most importantly, watch over young girls who might be a potential target.”_

Steve felt suddenly empty. He had a very bad feeling about this.

“Are you saying this is the beginning of a serial killing?”

“ _I told you, I can’t tell you much about it. However, we’ve examined the body and, profilers are coming up with bad news. Anyway. Just, be careful, watch over young girls. I’m not asking you to do the police’s job, I know you’re not quite the type. But make sure everyone is alright, starting by you.”_

This was an awful lot to process in one second, and Steve’s brain didn’t even fry since he couldn’t grasp the seriousness of the situation. In order of gravity: a potential serial killer was out there in his neighborhood, and he targeted young girls, and would probably reoffend. Wanda – _dear god_ – was a young girl who wandered in this area. Peggy was investigating the case in his neighborhood. Peggy had called him to tell him that. Peggy was worrying about him, also.

 _How dare you think about that when a girl’s life vanished because of this blood-thirsty scum?!_ He chastised himself, mentally slapping his egoist person. Maybe in crisis, the mind logged off a little to focus on nicer thoughts.

“ _Steve, you here?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah yeah yeah, of course, I’m here, erm, yeah, I’ll watch over them. I promise. I won’t be able to sleep if something else happens.”

“ _Don’t overreact. Maybe we’re wrong. I’d like us to be. But I’m just warning you; prevention is better than cure. On that note, good bye._ ”

And she hung up quickly, probably very busy at this time. This was going to be a tormented night.

***

The brown-haired policewoman, dressed in a leather jacket and black trousers, sat down at a table with ten other policemen, facing a white board with evidence pieces and schemes. A man spoke up as she fidgeted on her police badge.

“So, yesterday, Jane Brock, a 24-year-old woman, was murdered at approximately half past eleven in the area of Bel-Air, next to a park.”

Peggy sighed when she heard the neighborhood’s name.

“She died of several knife wounds, supposedly caused by a 1.80 meters-tall man, according to the profiling team. We discovered footprints in the mud close to the park, shoesize 6, that must belong to him. The victim died of a hemorrhage, stabbed in the neck, the ribs and above the thigh. No other evidence is found for now, we think he wore gloves and a hood.”

 _So he’s lunatic, impulsive and violent, and yet he cares to cover what could give away his identity,_ Peggy thought. The perfect psychopath.

“Anyway, our analysts came up with a profile: that man must have conflictual relationships with women, maybe a motherly traumatism or a girlfriend that left him.”

_Right. Always women’s fault._

“He seems to be trained, or at least muscular, so maybe he’s obsessed with his appearance, which would coincide with the malignant narcissist dimension of his personality. Indeed, they believe that, given the evidence, this murder was unplanned, and he probably had the intention to abduct her. Since she resisted and as it was the first time he acted, he killed her. Thus, we think about a serial kidnapping at least, if not a serial killing. Thank you for your attention, and go to work.”

Peggy got up to go back to her office, where she carefully studied the evidence. Under her poised and contained façade, her blood was boiling. _Good, because that’s what got her going._

***

 

            Steve had spent the worst night ever. Even with Wanda sleeping in the sofa next to his bed, he had felt terribly anxious. Well, there was nothing he could do more, for now.

_He could use his powers, though. To find him and make him pay._

No. The police had a job, and he was not some kind of vigilante that watched over his neighborhood, like a hood-scaled Batman. He’d just contribute to the investigation and look around if no girls wandered in the streets at night alone. But he also had a new job and couldn’t cumulate a hundred tasks.

A new job. _Shit! I’m gonna be late!_ He rushed down the stairs after putting on the same clothes as the day before, and didn’t even grasp a toast or an orange juice glass. His stomach empty, he hopped on his bicycle and headed to the firm.

 

            “That’s when you come to work?” a sardonic voice exclaimed. It was indeed this brown-haired prick, still seated in his favorite chair, this time flaunting his magnificent Prussian blue shirt bought the day before. Not taking his eyes off the computer screen, he sipped on a freshly ground beans artisanal coffee.

Steve closed the door, panting, his coat wide open as he was almost sweating because of his race. “’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“I could have died at least 523 times.”

“Why, did you count?” the blonde retorted, still catching his breath.

Bucky raised an eyebrow barely visible behind the computer screen and typed something on the keyboard. Well, weird; he wasn’t that talkative today.

“Did you receive any other threats?” Steve tried, resuming the conversation.

“Are you worried about me?” the other chirped.

“I’m your fricking bodyguard, I’m doing my job!”

Upon those words, the TV screen was turned on again, and Bucky raised his hands to prove that he didn’t touch the remote. The same thing happened, with the skull painted black and the death forecasting message. Steve couldn’t believe his boss’s phlegm; there was a limit to nonchalance.

“Ask and you shall receive,” the CEO deadpanned.

“I mean, aren’t you _a little bit_ concerned about that? It’s death threats, it’s pretty serious.”

“Well, I got a bodyguard, don’t I? I pay him a lot to do his job, as you may know.”

“That’s not – okay, maybe you should get in touch with the police, or the cyberattack department,” the blonde explained. “Maybe they could catch this guy for you.”

Bucky left his seat to pace in front of the TV screen, walking towards Steve. “I don’t like the police. So, no, I don’t want to _get in touch_ with them.”

“But why?!”

“Bureaucracy, dog-like discipline, administrative treatment of serious cases, narrow-mindedness – do you want me to continue?”

The blonde man looked forlorn. “They could still help you with that. You need to stop thinking that you are the only one able to help yourself. To _match your requirements_.”

Bucky sat down on the couch, detailing his bodyguard’s face. He still sipped on that delicious coffee. As he opened his mouth to speak again, Steve’s phone ring broke the silence; it sounded particularly ridiculous since it was little trumpet noises imitating the national anthem.

“Seriously? _The Star-Spangled Banner_?” he said, incredulous.

“I’m really sorry,” Steve babbled. “I’m just taking a look at the number…”

“Please, make yourself at home.”

The blonde glanced at the number displayed on the screen. _Oh no, it’s Peggy._

“I’m really sorry, I have to take the call, it might be important…”

“Do, do, I feel safe right now.”

Steve thanked his boss with a little head nod and took the call. Even though Agent Carter’s calls were rarely bearer of good news, he still wore that stupid lovesick expression on his face, delighted to hear his denied-crush’s voice.

“Yeees?” he chirped, almost switching personalities. If Bucky hadn’t been sitting down, he would have fallen flat on his ass at the change in his voice. That dude was capable of being nice and polite?!

“ _I’m sorry to bother you again, Steve_ ,” Peggy’s familiar voice resonated. “ _It’s just that I’m working on the case and it’s linked to your neighborhood, so I can’t just ignore you.”_

Steve’s fluttered again. She thought about him, or better yet, she _couldn’t ignore him_. He instinctively looked down to hide a blush that she was in any case incapable of seeing, scratching the back of his head, and biting his lip. Maybe she was going to take a leap and confess that-

“ _I call you at such an accommodating hour for you to inform you of the situation. A police car will patrol the streets starting at 7 o’clock, and I was wondering if you could tell Natasha to inform the clients. I know that there are many people going to the shop._ ”

“Ah, yes, of course I’ll do it,” the blonde answered, a bit disappointed that she yet again talked about work. But at the same time, he felt relieved that the police were taking action and using their means to prevent any case of assault. “Also, I wanted to tell you that I got a job.”

“ _Where? Are you working right now?_ ”

“Yeah,” Steve giggled. Bucky was still staring at him with his eyes wide open, as if it was going to help him comprehend this personality switch. Then he had a revelation.

“I’m working in a firm called Asteria. Don’t worry, it’s good-“

“ _I’m sorry, I didn’t know you got a job. I’m glad you did. I won’t bother you some more, get back to work.”_

And she hung up at Steve’s nose, as usual; he was left with the phone in his hand, that blissful look on his face. She was so cool, she couldn’t display her feelings like this; although she admitted that she worried for Steve. And the potential victims of course. The blonde felt a bit guilty to think about his own happiness.

However, a sassy voice brought him straight back to earth. “That was the lovely Agent Carter, right?”

Steve turned around in a rush and glared at Bucky. Then, he feigned to be surprised.

“Who?” he asked while scratching the back of his ear. He was and had always been a terrible liar. Natasha had repeated that a hundred times as he’d tried to pretend he didn’t eat pies destined to clients.

The CEO crossed his leg in a provocative way, still sipping on that damn coffee that reminded Steve that he hadn’t eaten this morning. His eyes a bit squinting, his mouth making an unbearable slurping noise, he explained.

“Peggy Carter, the policewoman we both faced while making our deposition at the police station the other day. Bet you two are longtime friends.”

“Yeah, we are. Does that bother you?” the blonde tried to sound confident and intimidating.

“I don’t know, does _that_ bother you? That you both are… only friends for instance?”

 

Steve felt his ears turn pink. He gasped silently, raised his finger to point it at his boss, and put it down again. “I _do not_ have a crush on her.”

“You do, and it’s obvious.”

“What? Obv- no! I don’t!”

“You’re literally telling me to get fucked everyday while you’re getting all sweet with her. You’re talking to her like she’s your boss and talking to me like I’m trash.”

The blonde protested. “That’s not true! I don’t tell you that! I never treated you like trash, you’re the one whose perception senses are distorted. I don’t have a crush.”

Bucky put down his leg to cross the other, like in _Basic Instinct_. He took another sip of his delicious coffee. “I understand though, she’s quite attractive. May it be from a physical point of view as well as from a personality one.”

Steve saw red. “You said you hated cops, well, keep on hating them.”

“I do, but I have a thing for hot cops,” the other teased. “You know, the uniform and that stuff…”

“I HATE YOU!”

Just as Steve was losing his damn mind, his stomach growl, akin to the desperate hunger cry of a genetically-modified bear, covered his yelling. It was atrociously loud and embarrassing.

“Guess someone is hungry,” Bucky smirked. He looked at his watch. “Ten o’clock, I guess we can take a break. Let’s go to the cafeteria.”

The blonde couldn’t believe his ears. One time he’s sassing him and stealing him Peggy, and the other time he’s getting softer, driving him back home and offering a lunch break? What kind of bullshit was this job?

“We didn’t do anything and you want to take a break?!”

Bucky opened the door and led the way. The hunger was too strong, and Steve had to face the facts.

***

“That meal was quite good, right?” Bucky wondered aloud, hands on the wheel, in the driver’s seat. Steve was, as usual, sitting next to him. They had done nothing all day, like the day before, except eating out, shopping, eating ice cream and checking the firm’s stocks. That was the only evidence that the CEO actually owned a fricking firm.

“It was good, but not as good as my friends’ dishes,” Steve joked.

Bucky turned down the volume of _Overprotected_ blasting through the stereo. “Really? Are they the ones who own a shop?”

“Are you stalking me?”

“I’m not, I’m just a conscientious boss,” he retorted. “Let’s stop by the shop to get some food before we get home.”

Steve made a face at the brown-haired CEO. “I’m sorry, _we_ are getting home?”

“Ah, yeah, I wanted to ask you about that,” the other said like it was the most normal thing in the world, “you’ll have to stay at my house tonight.”

The blonde chocked on his own saliva for, let’s say, the 12th time in a one-week row. “WHAT?!”

“I saw someone follow us outside today and the threats are becoming more and more insistent, and frequent. So I thought my personal bodyguard should guard me home, because that’s the place where I’m more likely to be attacked. Especially at night.”

Steve tried to regain his normal respiration rate, as well as his pulse. He breathed in and out. “I’m not your nanny! The contract doesn’t stipulate that I have to follow you home, for God’s sake!”

“The contract said that, I quote, ‘ _the bodyguard shall ensure that by no means, the firm president’s physical integrity is threatened, nor his activity interrupted’_. In this case, you have to give yourself the means to protect me where I feel threatened, AKA my home!”

“Oh my _God_ , I can’t believe this! You’re violating the Labor Standard Law! My day is supposed to end when you leave the firm!”

“You shouldn’t have accepted the job if you didn’t read the contract. And don’t make a fuss out of it, you won’t sleep with me.”

“I SURE HOPE NOT!!!”

There was a blank.

“So, did we settle this out?”

Steve took his head in his hand, still breathing in and out, trying to remain calm. “I swear to God, you better pay me some good fucking money at the end of the month, or else I go to the police.”

“I will, I will, it’s called a wage. Ah! Is this the shop?”

He parked in front of _The Rush_. Of course, Natasha and the whole clan were glued to the windows, ready to gossip like overexcited 70-year-old grannies on a park bench. When they came in, it was anarchy. Or at least, that’s what Steve thought would happen. Instead, the bell rang familiarly, and Bucky was served as a take-out delicious pies, alcohol and biscuits. Natasha was horribly sweet with him.

“Will that be all?” she asked on an adorable smile. Steve was afraid.

“Yes, thank you very much. The shop looks nice,” the CEO added. “You coming?”

He had asked Steve. Except that Steve hadn’t say anything to his family about his plans and staying at Barnes’ home. And given the commotion provoked by a simple purchase, things would go wild in approximately 0.2 seconds.

“Ah-I-Erm…”

Natasha made a faces journey, starting with the astonishment face, the betrayal face, followed by the realization face and ending with the smug and all-knowing face, the worst of them all. Wanda was gasping behind Sam, and even Clint, usually apathic, tilted his head up. He’s the one who spoke.

“You going somewhere?”

“Well, actually, erm, Mr.Barnes here present asked me, as a… bodyguard, to…”

Bucky seemed to realize that he was ripping a family member off his loved ones, and felt a bit guilty. He thus tried to reconsider his decision. “I asked Steve to do extra hours tonight, but it’s alright if he doesn’t come. I won’t fire him right away,” he said with a chuckle. Natasha barged in as if her life was in danger.

“NO no no noooo, sir, _pleaaaaase_ , we don’t mind at all that you take away our little Steve,” she insisted while making that ‘ _Do it and don’t question it’_ gesture. She also proceeded to cut short every possible intervention of Clint’s. Wanda implicitly endorsed her plan.

“Yes, Mister, don’t be so considerate,” the dark-haired girl added. “Steve just found a job, he must fight to keep it, right Stevie?”

The blonde wore that expression of utter betrayal, mouth open and eyes popping. Bucky was just glad that the family was understanding. “Alright then, if you don’t mind, we’ll get going. Thanks for the meal, I’m sure it’s delicious.”

Upon those words, he moved his chin in a little nod towards Steve to ask his presence, and got out of the shop while greeting one last time the family. As he walked to his car, Steve lagged behind, hearing the “ _Oh my god he’s even more handsome from up close!”_ and the “ _Hope they won’t be doing crazy things tonight!”_. It was pure agony. Where was Peggy when he needed her the most?

Natasha received a call in the distance. Steve could only hear a “ _What? Are you kidding me?”_ and a “ _What a fucking stubborn person_ ” before he left. She must’ve had a problem with a client or whatever could get on her nerves.

And like the most natural thing in the world, they both got to the CEO’s house, which was, needless to say, splendidly modern and huge for a single man. In this city, owning this kind of residence must imply that you’re hella rich.

Bucky threw his coat on the enormous white sofa that almost occupied all the angles of the living room. The ceilings were incredibly high, like in every contemporary architecture house, and the furniture was particularly sober, elegant and refined. The interior felt soulless, though. They unpacked the take-out freshly purchased, set the table and ate like roommates. Obviously, they spent their time bickering and teasing each other. Or rather, Bucky was endlessly teasing his favorite blonde. Did he think that, _favorite blonde_? No he didn’t.

As they finished eating, the doorbell rang. Bucky got up to check the door, a silhouette looming behind the blurry glass door, and Steve by his side since he was allegedly his bodyguard. They exchanged a glance, and the CEO opened.

It was Peggy.

 

           

            One minute later, the conversation was already heating up. Steve was between the two brown-haired people who seemed to have their own fiery temperament, desperately trying to explain.

 “According to article 364 title 3 of the Labor Standards Act, you are unable to retain an employee at work without his consent, and out of the terms negotiated in the contract!” Peggy shot, her juridical arsenal in support.

“If I’m not mistaken, a police officer barged inside my house without a warrant, which is a far more serious infraction,” Bucky retorted, not at all impressed.

“You won’t teach me my job, so why not just do yours properly? You’re a firm president, not a baby in need of a nanny. I’m taking Steve back home.”

She punctuated her words with a firm grip on Steve’s wrist, which startled him a little. Normally, he would feel extremely flattered, but now, things were just getting out-of-proportion.

“No offence, but… you weren’t there to sign the contract. And if I’m a baby, you certainly are a mother hen, ready to protect her dear child. Aren’t you? After all, Mr. Rogers is a grown man, 25-years old if I’m not mistaken. But you should know that, right?”

If glares could kill, Bucky would already have been shot, stabbed, drowned and skinned alive. Indeed, the brunette policewoman was staring at him in defiance, very well aware that she could only push forward the fact that she was Steve’s friend, and nothing else. She knew he was kind of right; but she hadn’t foreseen that he’d have the _nerve, the audacity_ to stand up to her.

“Peggy, I swear, I’m alright, I decided this on my own,” Steve spoke for the first time. Peggy was having none of it. She then received a text on her phone.

“ _DON’T BOTHER MY SON AT WORK, PLEASE, IT’S THE FIRST TIME IN ONE YEAR THAT HE HAS A JOB. Xoxo Natasha Romanov”_

Peggy glanced at the phone, the helpless blonde man, that mysterious excruciating CEO. She took a decision. “I’m only leaving because you insist, Steve,” she said. That was partly true.

“I know, Peggy,” the other answered, smiling shyly.

“Don’t worry, he’s in good hands,” Bucky added, taking Steve’s wrist as well.

“Don’t make me come back on my word, you pervert-oriented nut.”

“Wow. Do you want me to call a _real_ police officer who won’t insult me?”

“ _P-Please_ , just- stop fighting. For God’s sake. And mine,” the blonde interrupted. Peggy let go of his arm, looking at him with her dark magnetic eyes. “Call me tomorrow, or anytime if he does something wrong. And _you_ ” she warned while pointing her finger at the CEO, “I got you all figured out. You step out of the line, you’ll be hearing from me.”

And after glancing one last time at Steve, she left, throwing one last murderous glare at Bucky. He still held onto Steve’s wrist, mirroring the previous gesture, and that felt a bit weird. He finally let go, and tied his hair in a bun, sighing because of that stormy exchange. “So, should we get some sleep?”

Steve was incredibly embarrassed of the previous discussion, well, _quarrel_ , and maybe because of the fact that they both… gripped his arms. Obviously, coming from Peggy, it was quite unusual, _exceptional_ dared he say. He, who had always wondered if she would ever show a sign of affection towards him, was now lost. And Bucky who played her game, and did the same; what was wrong with him?! He still felt the embrace on his wrist. _What the hell?_

“Helloooo, aren’t you tired? Don’t you have any sassy remark to make?” the CEO continued.

“Erm… yeah… why not. You’re tired when you’ve done nothing all day?”

Bucky raised a smile. “There you are. The bedroom is upstairs,” he said as he climbed the staircase.

“W-What do you mean _the_ bedroom?!”

“Well, mine, obviously. There’s a sofa inside, so I’ll sleep in my bed, and you in the sofa.”

“Do we really need to do that?!” Steve barked, outraged and upset, climbing the stairs as well.

“Of course we do! Jesus, Rogers, do you have eyes? I received three death messages today, and one guy followed us.” He pushed the door of an obscenely big room, that even had its own bathroom. The blonde remained amazed at such beauty.

“Wow…” then he remembered he was angry. “With a house this big, you could at least let me sleep in something else than a sofa! And I’m not your watchdog, sleeping at your feet to bite intruders!!!”

Bucky rested his hand on his shoulder, his palm warm, and extended his hand towards the said sofa to exhibit its splendor, maybe. Then, making sure Steve watched the piece of furniture, he pressed a button and the sofa slowly turned into a bed.

“Holy…”

“Satisfied?”  

 

Evidently, the blonde was speechless, looking at the sofa and Bucky. “You can show off all of your luxurious gadgets and widgets and whatever, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m in your fricking room guarding you like a-“

He was interrupted by Bucky, who pushed him on the now bed-sofa. “Think of the monthly wage, if that alone can cheer you up, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve didn’t know why, but he felt extremely troubled, abashed. Ah, yes, he knew why!

He had been _pushed on a bed by his boss in his boss’s bedroom at his house and that was not something employees usually did_. Alright, the bed was his alone. Alright, the room was big and his bed far from the other. Alright Bucky didn’t do anything. But dang, that was just not what being a bodyguard meant to him!!! He felt like a teenager at some goddamn slumber party!

Weighing the pros and cons of the situation, he decided he was tired to fight the current. Exhausted by the latest news, the tribulations of his heart rate because of Peggy, his annoying family and his unpredictable boss, the blonde fell down on the blankets. “If I can call you Bucky, then you can call me Steve. At this level of awkward intimacy, it’s gonna be weird if you call me by my first name.”

The brown-haired man, that was heading towards the bathroom, turned around. “I never allowed you to call me Bucky though,” he said.

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You said one may call you James or Bucky because your middle name is Buchanan. And as you find it lame, I decided to call you that,” he jested.

Bucky tried to remain calm, looking at the ceiling and biting his lip to prevent any mean comeback. Ruffling his chocolate locks, he removed the hair band to let it down, and retorted. “Alright, _Breakin’ Steven_.”

The other frowned in disgust, sprawled on his bed. “Where the hell did you find that?”

“Well, Steve is short for Steven actually, and you’re breakin’. Gangs, spines, Scott…”

“God, are you just gonna keep rub in it?! I feel guilty and stupid enough, you don’t need to add to the pile!” he babbled, shameful. Of course, Bucky took great pleasure in his misery.

“I’ll let you think about it then, I’m putting on pajamas,” he said, gesturing towards the bathroom, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. “Don’t come in, even if you want to.”

And he closed the door, hearing the distant obfuscated chocking made by the blonde, torn between laughing his exasperation off or crying. He chose the laughing, being one optimistic little guy, and shouted through the door that Bucky didn’t have to worry about that.

Two minutes later, the brown-haired man was ready to go to sleep, dressed in a black tee and loose grey sweatpants, ugly elephant slippers on his feet. At this point, Steve didn’t even ask anymore. He had brushed his teeth and everything. “Congrats, you’ve resisted the overwhelming desire to peep on me undressing.”

Steve had put a pillow on his head. “First of all that would imply the desire exists, and second, I’m gonna sue you for sexual harassment.”

“What? I did nothing!” the other defended himself. “I’m joking to lighten up the mood.”

“Well, leave it dark. Also, I don’t want to sleep in jeans. That’s uncomfortable,” the blonde whined. “I need to get home to grab pajamas.”

Bucky wagged his finger in a “ _no you won’t_ ” motion. “You mustn’t weasel out of your job. A bodyguard’s work is tough, but that’s how it is on this bitch of earth. _C’est la vie,_ as French say.”

Steve sat down on the bed, holding the pillow. “ _Weasel out_?! I’d like you to notice that I’m working at half past 10 PM at _your_ house! And how can you talk of effort when you don’t do shit in life?!”

The CEO jumped on his bed immaturely, setting himself on the covers, and crossed his arms behind his head, resting on the headboard. “You’re being insolent. And if you want pants, I got sixty in this shelf. Choose the ugliest one.”

 

            As we said before, Steve was tired of fighting. He knew he couldn’t do much facing this unpredictable and abnormal person that was his boss, like multiple waves do nothing to a well-established cliff. So he imitated the man, took pants, changed in the bathroom, and lie down his sofa-bed. He was so tired, he could fall asleep in two minutes. He could have, _alone_.

The light was turned off, and not a single ray of light came through the windows. One could only hear the quiet breathing in the room.

“So, what’s the deal with Peggy?” a voice shot in the dark. Steve knew no one could see his face, but he still had the reflex to turn around.

“Nothing. We were together at high school, that is all. Then she graduated police school,” he said.

“Oh. Together, like _together_? Cuz she was really protective earlier.”

“No!!! What are you – you’re assuming things that don’t exist,” the blonde hissed. There was a silence.

“So it’s like some kind of… unrequited love… or somethin’?”

Bucky received a pillow in the face, smashing his mouth and the so-called nonsense that came out of it. “How dare you?! At _me_ , your boss?”

“You went beyond the line of professional business,” the blonde shot. “Actually, you’re pooping on it. Like, no employer has ever asked me to sleep with them – _I mean­,_ to sleep next to them. To like, be some kind of dog…“

There was another blank. Then Bucky spoke up. “I consider you a bodyguard, not a dog, know that. And it’s not my fault if someone wants to make an attempt on my life at every moment,” he affirmed. “Also, note that I was not inappropriate because of what you said.”

“What, you want a cookie?”

“No thanks, your friend’s pie was delicious.” And he threw back the pillow he had received.

“You’re tiring me up,” the other whispered. “I’m falling asleep. Good night.”

“Nighty night, Breakin’ Steven,” Bucky answered as he heard another desperate sigh.

***

 

A car was parked at the end of the street, with two men inside observing the stunning house.

“You sure this is it?” an imposing and heavyset man said.

“Yeah, we’ve tailed him for a while.” Another man answered. It was Rumlow.

“And what about our client?” asked the other. “Did he give clear instructions?”

“Thanos, don’t worry about it. Those guys are efficient. We’re gonna scare that kid and I’ll get my revenge on that… blonde son of a bitch. We’ll kill two birds with a stone.”

Thanos chuckled. “Yeah. Kill two birds with a stone.”

 

***

 

 As often as Steve told himself that he was exhausted, he couldn’t sleep all night. The sofa was incredibly soft, that was not the issue; he just turned and turned in his covers because he wasn’t accustomed to sleep at another person’s house, let alone his employer. Rubbing his half-closed eyes that burned because of exhaustion, his mind wandered to gloomy places, thinking about the recent events in his neighborhood. After turning another time under his blankets, used to the dark, the young man sat up discreetly and listened to Bucky’s breathing.

He seemed to be deeply asleep.

Consequently, he tried to get down the stairs as soundless as possible, in order to grab a glass of water in the kitchen. Being barefoot, the glass stairs felt a bit cold under his skin, and the kitchen tiling as well. The huge windows in the house let moonlight rays lit up the room with a dim silver light, but it was still hard to get one’s hands on a glass, especially since Steve didn’t live here. After struggling for a solid-minute, he gave up and decided to dip into the fridge; after all, he deserved a little reward. _Okay_ , that job wasn’t that hard on a physical or intellectual plan; but he hadn’t signed up for this. Making himself at home, the blonde in his borrowed-pajamas opened the fridge door, spotted an almost empty orange juice bottle, and took it.

He moved to the right and left the fridge door close on its own, slowly moving due to the inertia, as the young man turned his back on it.

The fridge door closed up gently to reveal a hooded man.

He rushed towards the blonde opening up the juice bottle; hearing the sound and trusting his instinct, Steve turned around at lightning speed to face his assailant, dropping the bottle. The hooded man was armed, and brandished a tactical knife at him, his weaponized fist swooping down on his chest; but Steve blocked his arm, and grabbing a frying pan that was hanging around next to the sink, he hit as hard as he could the attacker.

Evidently, the hooded man had the misfortune to fall on a super-strong guy, who printed the shape of his face on the metal cooking surface, as he sent him flying across the kitchen. Steve ran to him to bludgeon him one more time, until he got unconscious. _Oh my god, who is this? What have I done?_ He wondered, completely panicked. He was still firmly clutching the pan.

Just as he was going to take the hood off the assaulter, he heard a muffled scream upstairs. Not even thinking about what could be playing out, he bolted up the stairs as fast as he could, to barge in the bedroom he had previously left.

Another hooded man akin to the first one was on Bucky’s bed, trying to strangle him as he apparently had dropped his knife; the CEO seemed not to give up easily, even if he was in a blatant position of weakness. The man sealed his gloved hands on the man’s throat. Steve ran to the bed to ram the frying pan into his head, and then proceeded to send a flying knee-kick in the assailant’s ribs, propelling him at the other end of the room, destroying yet again the wall. Needless to say that the two would not wake up any time soon.

Steve was on all fours on the bed, after losing his balance in the strike. Well, who could blame him, he was not a trained soldier. He turned around quickly to face Bucky, shaking him and gripping his arm.

“Are you okay?!” he cried out. The brown-haired man was still a bit in shock, but regained composure gradually, panting.

“Y-Yeah,” he breathed, “Yeah… I’m alright I guess…”

“Oh my god, I don’t know what happened, I went downstairs to grab something to drink, and there was a first guy, I smacked him, and I guess he had an accomplice who came to you-“

Bucky interrupted his babbles. “I don’t know either, but you’re alright, and I am too, thanks to you…”

Steve was still holding the man’s arm, making sure he wasn’t hurt. And not really moving because of the shock.

“Yeah, yeah, if you say so…” the blonde repeated to himself.

“You can quit straddling me, I’m fine,” Bucky said in an attempt to humor.

“Wh- What? I- no I was just-“

The blonde spluttered, feeling embarrassed, scared and panicked at the same time. His adrenalin rush slowly decreased, and he breathed in and out to regain his former heart rate. He jumped out of the bed, a bit rosy on the cheek. Ah, one _hell_ of a feeling, adrenalin. Bucky turned on his beside table light, blinding their poor dark-accustomed eyes at first.

“Well,” the brunette started while looking at the comatose attacker, “I guess Agent Carter will now have a good reason to come.”

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, adrenalin is one hell of a drug, Steve. We know you're lying, Steve.   
> Anyway, I hope the switch from "humor" to murder attempts is not too sharp, but now that I think about it, there are way too many plots in this goddamn story. I should be studying for finals.  
> Also, thank you for the comments and kudos, it means a lot!


	4. Chapter 4

_The same night, in the Bel-Air area_

 

            A ginger young girl dithered to choose a remedy against her headache, hesitating between two colorful tablets. She had to decide, the pharmacist was soon going to kick her out; furthermore, the man behind her seemed to want to purchase something, thus she needed to hurry.

As she paid for the medicine and left, she just heard the man ask for pills with an odd name and band aids. Tugging a strand of her fiery hair behind her ear, she put on her hood and walked home. There was still a lot of people on the streets, and the lights projected that dim amber light upon the sidewalks. It was kind of reassuring.

She purposely avoided the park though, thinking about the recent dreadful event. The girl opted for a side street on the other side, winding through the small buildings. She heard many steps in the streets, and the distant hooting sounds of a solitary owl. As she got out of the little side street, she came face to face with an unknown man. Startled, she let out a gasp of surprise and detailed the guy: he was appearing from the side, wearing a hood just like her, his nose a bit crooked from where she saw. Then, she found his skin strange, almost _peeling_ , as if it was fake.

“Erm, can I help you?” she whimpered, careful to keep a distance.

The man turned around. He was wearing a mask imitating human skin. The ginger gasped in horror and started to run in the opposite direction. But he caught her arm violently, and threw his hand on her mouth, preventing any horrified scream to resonate through the streets. As the girl struggled, tried to hit wherever she could, he applied a handkerchief in place of his hand on the girl’s mouth. She fought again for a few seconds, pushing her assailant, but the man was too tall and too heavy; she was trapped in his repulsive embrace. Her arms slowed down and fell alongside her body. She was soon unconscious.

Carrying her in his arms, still wearing the mask, the man headed towards his car, protected by the dark. One minute later, a police car was roaming the street.

***

 

            Steve was still shaken, and shaking. It was early in the morning, close to 8, maybe 9 AM; the sun was brightly shining in the sky, warming up the earth of night’s cold embrace. Copper-colored sunrays were blinding him from time to time in the car. Bucky was next to him, driving, his sunglasses still on his eyes; and Peggy was following them in a police car.

They stopped in front of _The Rush_ : indeed, in spite of Steve’s relentless arguments, Bucky had wanted to drive him to his family to make sure they knew he was okay, even if they technically didn’t know he had been attacked with his boss. The man was intolerably calm and poised, whereas Steve was still dwelling on the events. As they parked the car, Natasha was yet again glued to the window. She glanced at the two men heading towards the shop.

“Oh my god Clint you need to see this,” she demanded.

“What?”

“Mister CEO is wearing an ecru turtleneck, probably very expensive.”

“And?” the scruffy blonde asked, half-asleep. The red-head loudly sighed, exasperated by her husband’s obliviousness.

“You idiot! He’s hiding his neck!” she noticed. “You know what _that means_! Things got a bit wild last night!”

Clint widened his eyes, laughing nervously. “Tasha, what the hell? You’re being inappropriate. Not in front of the kids!” he exclaimed, referring to Wanda and Sam, who were mature adults by the way. The concerned “kids” guffawed in their sleeves. Then, Natasha ran behind the counter to greet her favorite client. And Steve accessorily. The door bell rang, opened by Bucky.

“Hellooooo,” she sang. “I hope you didn’t eat, I’ve got some pie for you.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Roman-“

Natasha raised her finger and waggled it, interrupting the brown-haired man. “Wop-pop-pop-pop! No _Mrs. Romanov_ with me. Call me Natasha,” she ordered. Bucky chuckled and nodded his head.

“Hi Stevie!” Wanda beamed. “You okay? You look a bit upset,” she worried. Indeed, the blonde didn’t even try to hide his troubled face. Natasha and Clint were also bewildered at such a behavior. Of course, the red-head didn’t really finesse the situation.

“What’s wrong, Steve?” she asked. “You should be happy! I mean,” she raised her brows several times with a knowing look, “apparently you both had fun last night.”

“ _Fun_ wouldn’t be the word I’d use,” the blonde man deadpanned. As Natasha was confused, and Bucky made a face because he understood the quid-pro-quo, Peggy pushed the glass door. Clint saw his wife’s face getting disappointed.

“You really are a _stubborn person_ , aren’t you?” she jokingly shot to Peggy’s intention. For a moment, Steve understood that it was to _her_ that the red-head had been talking on the phone yesterday before they left; she didn’t want the policewoman to go to Bucky’s house, which was why she shouted. What a mess.

“What can I say, it’s a quality when you’re doing my job,” the brunette retorted, positioning herself next to Steve and Bucky, wearing a leather jacket and that determined look on her face.

“So, is someone ever going to say what’s going on?” Sam inquired. “Cuz obviously things didn’t go as Nat planned.”

“There was something planned?” Steve asked. Peggy ignored his naïve question to blurt the truth.

“They have been mugged by two attackers last night. They called me at dawn and we took the guys away. They’re being questioned at this very moment.”

Everyone except the “victims” gasped and let out shocked whispers. Wanda instinctively got closer to Steve to hug his arm, asking him if he was okay. But deep down, she also wondered if the CEO _knew_. Had Steve displayed his supernatural strength? To him or to Peggy?

The brunette continued. “One of them was almost beheaded with a frying pan, while the other was plastered on the bedroom’s wall like a Lady Gaga poster. I didn’t know that Mr. Barnes over there was a secret fan of the WWE,” she smirked. She was quite reassured that Steve had nothing. She also was unaware that she found herself at years away from the actual truth.

The entire family either looked down, or at the ceiling, or made a face in silence, anticipating Bucky’s answer and hoping he would not reveal the blonde’s power. The CEO’s brain lagged for a second, to then catch up with the strategy. He grinned and stared at the policewoman with his greyish blue eyes.

“Well, what can I say, I train every day,” he said. “One can never be too careful. Nor muscular.”

“One can be too muscular, and generally it drains the brain,” Peggy shot with a sardonic smile on her face, obviously referring to the lack of cognitive capacities of the CEO. As for Steve, he gazed at her fondly, aware that she liked tender and refined men, like him. Or at least like he pretended to be. Besides, he forgot to thank his savior. Natasha barged in, as usual, to prevent any Steve-Peggy rapprochement, which would get in the way of her Steve-Mr. Barnes plans.

“Well, no one cares about your ideal type of man, Peggy,” she jested. “And personally, I don’t mind muscles at all, and I don’t think Steve does either,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

“Has anyone tried the _souchkis_? They taste really good,” Clint blurted in to cut the awkward atmosphere that only his wife was able to create.

“I’d like one, please,” Bucky and Steve said simultaneously. Natasha jubilated.

Peggy’s phone rang; as she took the call, her face crumbled. “What? Where?”

Everyone looked at her, taken aback.

“This night? Are we sure it’s him? Yeah. Alright. I’m on my way.”

She hung up, her brows furrowed and her carmine lips stiff, and sternly greeted the family.

“A problem?” Wanda asked the policewoman.

“I’m telling you,” she gestured at the group, “because you’re close friends. You, Mr. Barnes, you just get to hear because you’re at the right place at the right time.”

“What did I ever do to you?”

“Anyway, a girl is rumored to have disappeared in Bel-Air. But this is brand new info and it could be a fugue or something, since she is an adult, not necessarily an abduction,” she declared. “However, I count on you, Natasha, so you can warn the clients about what’s going on in the neighborhood.”

The red-head raised her eyebrows. “Well I hope I’ll be able to, if there are any clients after that. Weren’t you supposed to patrol around?”

“If it’s him, he must have operated in a dark area.” Peggy stopped a second as if she had a revelation. “It’s very probable that he knows the neighborhood. _Shit_ , maybe he even was there when instructions were given. He must be working in a field that grants him access to communications and the town’s areas, if he didn’t take the risk to be present at the police conference.”

Everyone was looking at her while she psycho-analyzed the murderer and potential abductor’s profile. “I have to go,” she asserted, zipping her jacket. “Steve and Wanda, be careful.”

“What about the rest of us?!” barked Natasha, outraged. _Jeez_ , this woman really had a terrible temper.

“I know you don’t risk anything, Mrs. Romanov. And the killer targets young women, that’s why I warn Wanda.”

“You implying that I’m old?!!”

“No, you’re just a seasoned luchador. And Clint and the others are men.”

“Since when Mr. Rogers is a woman?” Bucky teased. He knew damn well that if Peggy had included him in her worried greetings, it’s because the blonde’s crush was not _fricking one-sided_. The policewoman’s sole response was a murderous glare as she left the shop.

 

“ _Dang_ , it was as tense as a thong in here,” Sam cackled. Steve was still having that stupid lovestruck gaze, to the great despair of Natasha and Bucky. Or maybe just Natasha. But as she was going to lighten up the mood with embarrassing remarks which she alone owned the secret, Wanda took over.

“So, none of you both were hurt by the muggers?”

Bucky spoke faster than Steve, after finishing a piece of pie. “Well, your brother is surprisingly skilled in the art of the frying pan. He’s also keen on walling in people, which caused a bit of a damage in my room.”

Sam was bent over with laughter, imagining the scene. Wanda chuckled too, glad that they were fine, and that Bucky wasn’t that afraid of Steve’s strength. Natasha was interested in 1 thing. “And what is the turtleneck for, dear Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky threw a knowing glance at the red-head, and they studied each other for two seconds. He cracked a sly smile. “Please call me James, and as you may have figured it out, my neck is not in a good state. You know, strangulation marks and all that stuff.”

“Oh.” She didn’t want to hear that.

Steve had long ago given up on stopping the red-head. He got up, finishing a glass of juice. “I think it’s time to go to work, since you don’t want to go to the police station,” he told the CEO.

***

 

            “I can’t believe you’re compelling me to go to work, _you_ , my bodyguard,” Bucky said as _Work Bitch_ was blasting through the car speakers. “I’d like to remind you that I’m your direct supervisor, the president of a renowned fir-“

“And if I hadn’t been there yesterday, you’d probably have been chocked to death,” Steve shot. “You’re welcome.”

Bucky gasped in outrage. “Welcome? _Welcome_?! I pay you an awful lot to do this! It’s your job!”

“Well see? I did my job, so do yours and go to the firm!” he retorted. “Do as Britney says, ‘Now get to work-“

He stopped because, you know, he was not going to insult his boss; after all, he had had a rough night.

“You were seriously going to quote Britney to call me a bitch?”

“I didn’t say it!”

“You thought about it so loud I heard it.”

“I didn’t say anything! God, you’re always thinking that the whole world wants your misfortune,” the blonde unwarily said. He instantly regretted his words, remembering the two assassins he himself tore up. Bucky’s jaded glare said it all. He turned his head to focus on the road, driving _right by_ the firm.

“Hey, wait, where are you going? The firm’s here!” Steve exclaimed.

The brunette spoke up, eyes on the road. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that I’m going somewhere today. It may involve you a little, so I hope you’ll be appropriate.”

The blonde frowned. “Somewhere? And what do you mean? Appropriate for what?”

 

 

 

The CEO parked his car in front of a… house?

 _No,_ Steve told himself while trying not to let his jaw fall, _this is a fucking mansion_.

The “house” was even more impressively magnificent than Bucky’s, and that meant something. Built in classical European style, it looked like one of those castles in France, but a bit smaller. There even was a fricking chateau park that was akin to a miniaturized version of the Versailles gardens.   

“So… this is my parent’s house,” Bucky said. “My dad lives here, he remarried another woman, and I have obnoxious uncles and aunts. Just behave naturally and follow my lead.”

“ _What_?! Why the hell are we here?!”

 One enormous wooden door later, Steve found himself sitting at the most provided table he had ever seen, with dish covers, hand crocheted lace tablecloths and _fricking waiters_. Salads, vegetables, legs of lamb, pork ribs in their sauce, lobster, truffles and even _caviar_ were displayed in front of Steve’s amazed eyes, almost watering because of the delicious smell and the delightful appearance of such delicacies. It was a festival of colors that stimulated the five senses. Well, except perhaps touch; there were silver cutlery for that. The table was very long, and the blonde counted eight people. Only two were young; and since Bucky had said he was an only child, he deducted that they must have been his cousins.

“James, dear, did you see? We even set out caviar and a bottle of Château Fourcas Dupré for you,” a slightly botoxed woman said, elegantly dressed and exhibiting shimmering earrings. She ought to be the stepmother. That was so cliché.

“I saw indeed. Though I don’t like wine,” Bucky answered.

“Oh, what a shame, you never told me that! What would you like next time?”

“Mm. Maybe vodka?”

The table laughed a little, but more than anything there was an uptight atmosphere, whereas it was a family dinner. Steve had let out the loudest chuckle of them all and felt a bit stupid. Although he wasn’t supposed to go there!

A 50-year-old man with reddish bleached hair and preying eyes, dressed in a grey suit, spoke up. “That Bucky is still the family’s circus clown,” he chuckled, digging the wrinkles on his tightened pale skin. The brunette’s sole response was rolling his eyes.

“So, are you ever going to present to us this charming man?” the stepmother continued. “I’m thrilled to know he’s having lunch with us, but he remains very mysterious,” she said while cracking a smile. Steve, who was slurping – well, _tasting_ – the delicious fish soup on his spoon suddenly raised his head, making sure not to drool or splash the delicate tablecloth. He was like a blonde deer in the headlights of a threatening luxurious Bentley. Bucky slightly turned his head to look at him, and the blonde silently asked him what he needed to do. The brunette simply wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Well, I’d like to say first that I’m honored to have lunch with you here, and the dishes are succulent,” he started, hesitant. “My name is Steve Rogers, I work with your… step-son, at Asteria. And I’m his-“

The brunette had finished to wipe his mouth and cut him off by freeing his own hand, reaching for under the table to catch Steve’s, and exhibiting the two entwined hands. He put his elbow and the blonde’s on the table, rubbing the back of the palm. Certainly that had cut Steve off. The stepmother had eyes like saucers, a little smile plastered on her rigid face. The others were not left behind, soon imitating her. Only the father, old and almost as blind as he was deaf, barely reacted.

“He’s my boyfriend, we’ve been dating for a year,” he deadpanned as if he was announcing the weather. His blonde accomplice was frozen in shock, or rather, he couldn’t comprehend enough the situation to be in shock, so he just kept still like a marble statue. One of the cousin reacted first, a young Asian girl with ebony locks.

“You’re such a cagey devil!” she exclaimed on a genuine smile. “Why haven’t you told us earlier?”

Helen. She was the only one Bucky tolerated, even liked; she was not as shallow as the others. Her and his now vegetable-like father.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry everyone. But what can I say, I didn’t expect it to last.”

Steve slowly turned his head to gaze at him. _Alright, you wanna play that stupid game? You wanna shock your family? I’ll help you with that._ He didn’t even try to understand the man’s labyrinthian mind anymore, he just went along with it. As Bucky would have liked. The blonde took a satisfied but falsely shy look.

“Bucky is kind of a lovestruck high-schooler with me, it’s my fault,” he laughed. Everyone was definitely baffled and dismayed by this turn of events, and it was the brunette’s turn to look at his companion with an astonished look on his face.

“B-But, James dear,” the stepmother stammered, “we had talked about this, you said you wouldn’t look for someone-“

“With all due respect, love doesn’t wait, Mrs. Barnes,” Steve piled on, almost giggling; it was hard to refrain himself from actually to burst out laughing. She was just _so disappointed_!

“I understand that v-very well, Mr. Rogers, but Bucky, his father and I had some quite interesting plans-“

Bucky let go of Steve’s hand to point his finger at the stepmother. “Hela, you don’t understand. Steve and I, it’s serious. So, no, I’m not gonna marry Gamora in the end. Sorry to disappoint you,” he blurted. Steve finally saw clear into that mess.

“WHAT’S HE SAYIN’?!” the old vegetable father yelled, unaware that he had destroyed 90% of his wife’s auditory capacity and woken up the dog.

“He’s not going to marry Gamora, Uncle,” Helen articulated loud enough.

“WHY NOT.”

“Because Steve, the blonde man we’re having lunch with for about an hour is his boyfriend.”

 _Yeah, alright, it’s all an illusion, but it really is embarrassing_ , Steve thought. The father suddenly pushed the table because he threw himself towards Bucky, disrupting plates and glasses, as everyone gasped. “ _Pappy_ , careful with the table!”

“YOU’RE WITH THAT GUY? SINCE WHEN ARE YOU A HOMOSEXUAL?”

“I don’t know,” the brown-haired man answered. “I’m Steve-sexual.”

“Please stop talking,” the blonde pleaded.

The vegetable deaf father violently turned his head towards Steve, like a dog who had seen a bone. A very tired dog. The blonde almost jumped in fear. “HOW WELL DO YOU KNOW MY SON?” he barked at 500 decibels.

Steve was staring at him, his aquamarine eyes almost popping out; he wiped his hands on his knees in an anxious reflex, and witnessing that the entire family waited for his answer, he talked.

“Erm, I know him quite well enough,” he began. “I know that he’s very stubborn, phlegmatic and nonchalant. I also know that he listens to Britney Spears all day long in his Maserati, so much that he changed the speakers to buy more powerful ones.” Bucky was motioning a “shut up for God’s sake” sign.

“I know as well that he is quite lazy, since he’s always reluctant to go to work. Paradoxically enough, he would never abandon his firm, he considers it his baby. What else…”

“I think we’ve heard enou-“

“He also swears a lot, likes to sleep with no light whatsoever, and has elephant slippers. He hates the police but likes the uniform. Finally, he likes to go shopping to buy dashing clothes even if he already owns a thousand shirts, and all that while licking ice cream like a twelve-year-old.”

 

Helen desperatly tried to stifle a laugh, while the others looked at each other, sometimes chuckling, sometimes having a seizure like Hela. The deaf father was still bent over the table, his tie soaked up in the sauce, his sunglasses concealing his little piercing eyes. He abruptly bounced back into his chair, and burst into a hearty laughter, so much that he almost threw up.

“YOU CERTAINLY ARE A FUNNY FELLA!” he eructed, just as loud as before. “JAMES, HE DESTROYED YOU!”

Bucky was retaining himself from plunging his head right into the sauce; but at the same time, he was infinitely grateful to Steve. So he quite did the opposite of his plans and gazed at the blonde fondly. _Not fondly!!! Thankfully._

Since the father was laughing, everyone imitated him, and the dinner became suddenly lighter. Only Hela and the bleach-haired uncle were not that amused, even if the latter pretended to chuckle. On this humorous note, the lunch ended, and Steve and Bucky left, not without difficulty.

***

“May I know _what the hell_ was that?”

The blonde was walking next to the CEO on riverbanks; the water was reflecting the sun’s warm afternoon rays, and children were shouting and shrieking at the playground, under their parents’ attentive gaze. Bucky was sipping on a cherry-pink drink bottled in a huge cup, on which was stuck the _Starbucks_ logo. He looked in the distance, believing he appeared cool with his Paco Rabanne sunglasses.

“It’s a _Blackberry Mojito Green Tea Lemonade_ , Steven. Can you read?”

“You’re drinking a mojito at 5 PM?”

“Why not. It’s 10 PM somewhere in the world,” the brunette retorted, slurping loudly.

“So, will you tell me what the hell was that?” the blonde reiterated.

Bucky let go of the straw. “It’s my family, quite obviously.”

“ _And_ …?”

“It’s cold and it’s broken, hallelujah.” Seeing Steve’s exasperated expression, the CEO complied and explained. “I told you. My dad is old and sick, and my mother died five years ago. After her death, he married Hela, you know, the Château Fourcas Dupré woman.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Me neither, it’s French, it’s weird as fuck. Anyway, you’ve met my cousin, Helen, and her brother, Malekith, who doesn’t say a word. And there were the obnoxious uncles and aunts too, four of them. The bleach-haired one is my father’s brother, Alexander Pierce, and the other is my mother’s, Loki.”

Steve registered up all the information, putting names – weird ones – and family ties on unknown faces. He then tackled the sore topic. “What about that… _Gamora_ … girl?”

Bucky sighed, and spoke after taking a gulp of his beverage. “You know, rich people want to preserve the purity of their race, so they intermarry. Gamora is a cold and ruthless heiress, and somehow Hela found her suitable for me. Fortunately enough, that girl has one quality, one must admit: she’s quite stubborn and dug in her heels. In this case, her heels were _not marrying me_.”

“Sorry, you’re saying you were caught in some shotgun wedding? On probation?” the blonde inquired, astonished. Bucky smirked and guffawed a little.

“I like the way you formulate it. But yeah, that was the idea.”

“And you had no other solution than to do… what you did earlier? Wouldn’t have Hela listened to you?”

Bucky looked at Steve above his sunglasses, _blasé_. “You really think I didn’t try everything before? Jeez, Stevie, you don’t know those people. They’re awfully stubborn.”

Steve cringed at the nickname. Only Wanda was authorized to call him like this. “I’m pretty sure I know someone stubborn enough to tell God to piss off on apocalypse day because he’ll want to go shopping,” he shot with a smirk, amused. Bucky only threw a vague “angry” look at the blonde and smiled in turn, approving. They kept on walking.

A man perched on a small building’s roof caught a glimpse of the two men in his eyepiece. The little cross was located on their figures. He armed the shotgun.

Bucky saw the unusual reflection of a weapon which reminded him of his shooting lessons. He felt as if his entire being was drained of everything, the earth absorbing his forces, imprisoning his legs in an imaginary trap. Once he realized what was possibly happening to them, he only thought about one thing, _running_ , and one person: _Steve_.

He shouted something resembling the blonde’s name and pushed him on the right with all his strength left. Steve, taken aback by this abrupt and desperate exclamation, let himself trip towards a tree. As he kept his eyes on Bucky while trying to understand, regaining very little balance, and resting his hand on the tree to remain upright, he just saw a blurry object fly at lightning speed towards the brunette and dig into his shoulder. Bucky let out a pained cry, hurt and angry. He then collapsed to the ground, holding his shoulder. It was starting to soak his camel jacket in blood.

 

“Oh my God, Bucky!!!” Steve yelled as bystanders gasped in horror and ran. He rushed at the brunette’s feet, falling on his knees, thinking about one thing: getting him out of here. The blonde shook his figure for a second, to make sure he was conscious; a suffering moan greeted him. “The bullet went through, I’m okay, it just burns like fucking hell…”

Oh my God. A _bullet_. Steve didn’t care what Bucky had said. He dabbled the arm again, and then slid his own under the CEO’s neck. He slid the other behind his legs.

“What… the hell are you doing…?”

“Don’t worry, we’re getting out of here!” the other reassured, even if his voice trembled.

Suddenly, he lifted an 80 kilos-weighing man like a feather, gripping tight the brunette who was half-conking out and half-wondering what in the world was going on. He was in such a groggy state that he didn’t hear Whitney Houston’s _I Will Always Love You_ playing in the background. Maybe it was in his head though.

Steve was refraining himself from panicking, even if he wanted to cry and shout and beat the shit out of whoever did this! But he only had one thing in mind: the car. He trotted out of the park, as children, parents and bystanders stared at him, carrying a man of his size and his eyes watering. He felt Bucky’s body completely strengthless and held him even tighter. He swore that he heard Whitney Houston’s _I Will Always Love You_ in the background. But he had no time for that. He saw the black Maserati parked behind lime trees, opened he door violently, and threw Bucky inside. The poor man slid on the back seat to smash his head against the opposite car door.

“YOU’RE GONNA FUCKING FINISH ME OFF!!!”

“I’M SORRY!!!” Steve yelled as he jumped in the driver’s seat to ride on full throttle, stomping on the pedal and propelling Bucky a bit further into the rear seat, who moaned another time in pain. “CAREFUL WITH THE CAR! IF THE BULLET DOESN’T KILL ME, BRAIN CONCUSSION WILL!”

“I’M DOING WHAT I CAN!” the blonde barked. The car sailed away dreadfully fast as _Toxic_ blasted through the stereo.

***

 

_A shed in a wrecking yard, under the surface_

The underground shelter was quite spacious, and _he_ was satisfied with that. Situated on an inside bridge that encircled the enclosure in height, he gazed below, detailing a vast room with a bed, computers and cameras, engulfed by dust and shadows. Maybe he needed to clean up a bit. Or maybe not. The ginger girl in his arms, carried like a ghoulish bride, he slowly went down the stairs to get to his favorite space. Once downstairs, he transported her to a derelict bed, which consisted in a single gaunt mattress put on a table. Taking his mask off and feeling liberated, he proceeded to remove her heaviest clothes, leaving her only in undergarments and with a white tank top. As he tied her hands and legs to the table with plastic straps, she sluggishly awoke, opening one eye after the other.

She wanted to scream, to cry for help, and started to fuss, violently shaking her entire body. Tears were rolling down her face as she begged the man to let her go. He squeezed her neck with his hand, silencing her, visibly infuriated. Then, he made gag out of tape that he brutally applied on her mouth.

“You’ll have the right to speak and eat when you’ll have calmed down,” he shushed. “For now, you’ll be the first bride,” he concluded, cracking a euphoric smile.

***

_Police station, Crime Investigation Department_

 

“So, Peggy, anything new?”

The brown-haired woman raised her nose from the computer, previously absorbed by her current file. She had her carmine lips slightly parted in focus and looked a bit startled by her superior’s presence. Nonetheless, she regained steadfastness instantly.

“I may have a lead, captain,” the brunette said.

“Call me Nakia, I already told you a thousand times,” a woman with dark chocolate skin reproached. She had fuzzy short black hair that wreathed her sharp face and recalled the ash color of her eyes. “But continue.”

Peggy made her seat turn around to point at a little board she had manufactured herself: it was pinned with receipts, organization charts concerning video surveillance, maps of the neighborhood and pictures of the body. She pointed her pencil at the chart.

“See, I investigated a few jobs that would grant access to large platforms of information, may it be simple broadcast, or more secured data, if the worker is skilled in computing. I also crossed the results with the marks on the body and the deducted murder weapon, to see if such a job could provide other skills. In the end, it’s almost certain that the murderer knows the town better than anyone, afoot or in a car. He thus is either a diviner to guess where the police cars are, or he has a way to access to security cameras. Which are, besides, lacking in the Bel-Air neighborhood due to the absence of violent crimes those last years.”

Nakia observed the board. “So you’re suggesting the man works in the security or computing field? And that it’s the same who allegedly abducted Carla Mayers?”

“Yes, it seems quite evident now. The profiling team expressly reported that his first abduction went south, due to the girl’s relentless and brutal struggles, thus he killed her. But he planned to kidnap her. And now, I don’t know if he’s going to stop at one abduction.”

“You’re saying it’s undoubtedly a case of serial kidnapping?” Nakia asked.

“I think so,” Peggy affirmed. “Nothing else than pure perversity motivated those crimes, no one found a relevant enemy to those girls. And there is a victim profile as well.”

“Well, don’t write that on the warrant when you’ll go on the field, even if it’s true,” Nakia advised. “I’ll dig one up for you for a few computing firms. Tell me if you ever find something else.”

Peggy thanked her superior. “About that, I was just about to meet the owner of a wrecking yard, in West Shores. It could fit in the action radius of the murderer.”

“Please, do,” Nakia nodded. “Also, from now on, I think Maria will help you with that.”

“Understood.”

***

 

 

 

_Bucky’s house_

A formless camel blotch was sprawled on the huge comfy white leather sofa. It was actually Bucky. He sunk into the material, holding his arm and moaning from one time to another.

Steve came back with a first-aid kit in his hands, still wearing his jacket and his concerned expression, a bit calmed down but not too much. He rushed to the CEO’s slouched figure and sat down next to him.

“You need to take off your jacket, otherwise I won’t be able to do anything!” the blonde pleaded.

“Don’t wanna... Wanna die here. At least I’ll die well-dressed,” Bucky mumbled.

“Oh come on, you’re bleeding your arm out, get yourself together! _God_ , I feel like in fricking _Beauty and the Beast_!”

The brunette threw him an exasperated glance, moaned another time in irritation, thus perfectly fitting the beast’s portrait. He let down his arm to slowly take off his coat, flinching from one time to another, as Steve tried to help him as gently as possible. Which was not his strongest suit. “Don’t, I’ll do it, I don’t want you to tear off my arm.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m not a ruthless monster, I’m not gonna kill you!”

Bucky finally removed the coat, wincing. “That remains to be seen. You added a brain commotion to my shoulder gangrene earlier.”

“Sorry about that, but I panicked a bit,” Steve shot, visibly upset. “Roll up your sleeve high, so I can disinfect the wound.”

Bucky complied, revealing the bloody lesion, a sharp cut that tore up the skin around; some blood stains had dried next to it, forming a muddy scab, but the crimson liquid was still tainting the clothes. The momentary medic blonde frowned, his brows furrowing in an unsettled way, and started to apply a gauze compress soaked in sanitizer, making the brunette wince again.

“I’m sorry, but I have to do it,” the blonde apologized. “Otherwise it’ll get infected.”

Bucky watched him clean the wound, biting the inside of his cheeks to prevent any other pained moan. He had been humiliated enough for today.

“So… Beauty and the Beast? Are you a fan of Disney?” he asked while trying to be smug. Steve rolled his eyes but smiled.

“I see that a bullet doesn’t take away your annoyingness, Mr. Barnes.”

“Or maybe do you watch _Bucky and the Beast_? Damn, I’m so funny. _Ouch_!”

Steve had removed the compress, thus reactivating the pain. He apologized one more time right away. “Sorry. And no, _you’re_ supposed to be the beast according to my calculations.”

“Your _calculations_?”

“Well, if you haven’t seen it, you can’t understand,” the blonde boasted.

“I have to admit, I only know the written version. Not a fan of that Disney sugarcoated crap,” he blurted before grunting as Steve (voluntarily?) applied a healing lotion with vigor. “What, you don’t want me to criticize it? It’s pretty ninny and mushy. And conform to American moral codes.”

Steve raised his eyebrows in incredibility. “What? You want Disney to show junkie princesses and the crushing weigh of core values commodification?”

“I’m surprised you know that word.”

“I’m not the one bleeding out, so be careful about what you say,” Steve warned. He kept on applying the lotion and took out a bandage, under Bucky’s amused gaze, and evaluated the length he needed to cut.

“So, if I got it right, I’m somehow the Beast?” the CEO jested. “I like it. It’s manly and a bit raw.” Steve didn’t even listen and cut the bandage to roll it around the top of the right arm. His hands yet again touched the exceedingly warm skin. He tried to ignore it by rolling his eyes, for, probably, the 100th time.

“I think you’re looking for the word _primitive_ , in fact.”

“Pff. And what would that make you? The refined, delicate and witty princess?” Bucky chuckled, while trying to ignore the many common points with Steve.

“Very funny. But if it means than I’m cleverer than everyone, courageous and farsighted, then why not,” the blonde bragged. Bucky almost coughed because he was laughing. “ _You_? Farsighted? That’s a laugh!”

Steve was finishing to roll up the bandage around the brunette’s arm and maintaining still with a tape scrap; he wondered why Bucky was making fun of _this_ quality in particular, and was going to retort something when the phone rang.

It was Bucky’s phone. The CEO straightened up in the sofa to take it on the table and look; it was a masked number. They both looked at each other with severity and apprehension. The brunette took the call carefully, not saying a word.

“ _This time, it was a pellet. But next time, it will be a real bullet._ ”

Bucky got up, leaving the sofa and pacing towards the bay window.

“What do you want? Who are you?”

The voice chuckled through the device.

“ _What I want? Mr. Barnes, I repeat it to you for a week. I wish you would step down and sell the firm. And my identity is of little importance._ ”

Bucky was frowning, his jaw clenched. “On the contrary, it’s of great importance,” he snapped. “And you can send bullets, ninjas or fucking Russian spies, I don’t give a flying fuck. I’ll never resign and leave the firm just because some little prick thinks he’s entitled to buy it. So take a big step back, _fuck your own face_ , and next time tell your sniper to aim better.”

And he hung up, almost breaking his own phone. Steve didn’t know what to say, and simply got up too to face his boss. But in that moment, was he still his boss, though? Wasn’t he a simple man prey to anxiety and feeling powerless? If Steve had done his job properly, they wouldn’t have arrived at this point.

Bucky turned around, wearing that exhausted look on his face, his pale blue eyes wandering around the room. He walked towards his “bodyguard”. Because Steve no longer considered himself as one. He terribly wanted to look down, but he willingly held eye contact while speaking up.

“I won’t blame you if you fire me,” the blonde declared. “I failed at my job, and it’s not the first time. So, show no mercy,” he added, trying to chuckle.

The CEO was struck down on the spot, brows furrowing in misbelief. “ _What_?”

“Well, I wasn’t efficient enou-“

“I’ve never heard such bullshit,” he cut off. “You’re remaining my bodyguard as long as I want it.”

It was Steve’s turn to be lost. “But I didn’t protect you-“

“ _I_ was the one to push you away, in some… stupid reflex. Must have been some reptilian brain shit or something,” Bucky argued. “It was my fault. Besides, you’ve done your job pretty well last time by smashing the two with a frying pan.”

The blonde admitted that it was relatively true. Even if he still had to be more careful and alert. For the time being, he wasn’t going to question the job his boss graciously maintained for him, and smiled, reassured.

“What, you’re only smiling because you kept your well-paid job?” Bucky shot.

“No! I mean… _yes_ , but also because you’re alright, of course.”

The brunette hummed, unconvinced. He moved towards the kitchen to make himself some coffee, preparing the mug and all of that. “Also, since I’m wounded and scared, you’ll be staying tonight as well.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the rich people moment is extrememly cliché, but it be like that sometimes. I also mixed up characters who had absolutely nothing in common, not even a movie, sorry about that too (Helen Cho and Malekith???)  
> (except Peggy and Nakia who'd be an amazing team)  
> Finally, in the TV show I draw inspiration from, the bullet moment is indeed happening while Whitney Houston plays in the background, it is not some weird fantasy of mine, I just found it funny...


	5. Chapter 5

“I have to get home to take sleeping clothes,” Steve declared. “ _Again_.”

 He had not refused a second time because Bucky wringed his heartstrings, looking sad, alone, shot in the arm and threatened. In any case, he didn’t really have a choice. As he was sitting on a high chair next to the kitchen bar, looking at his phone because he had the Wi-Fi password, the CEO was playing video games, still slumped on his sofa, like a sick child who gets to stay at home. To answer Steve’s question, he simply freed one of his hand off the joystick to point at the ceiling, undoubtedly indicating his bedroom.

“What.” The blonde deadpanned.

“Help yourself with what is in my closet,” the other flatly said, eyes focused on the tremendously large TV screen. Steve only sighed and complied, coming back ten minutes later with a sports blue tee and black sweatpants, the same kind as last time. Bucky took his eyes off the screen for a second, glancing at the blonde. Blue really suited him.

“You told me to help myself, so I took a shirt and pants,” Steve justified himself, a bit ashamed to steal someone’s entire closet. But _hey_ , he was already staying against his will, so the least he could have was a free meal and bed clothes; even if… he had spent so much time in this immense house that he actually started to feel at ease here. Bucky simply hummed in response. The blonde sat on the couch as well, not too far away but not too close either.

“You’re gonna play ‘til midnight, or what?”

The CEO looked offended. “You’re beginning to talk down to me or am I dreaming?”

“No need to be unpleasant, I’m just noticing that it’s 11 o’clock.”

“What, you’re an early sleeper? Like, setting with the sun and all?” the other grinned.

“No, but I’m beginning to think that you’re not _that_ affected by your wound and _that_ exhausted after all,” Steve shot. The brunette now felt outraged, gasping. Then he suddenly turned off the TV and the game. Steve didn’t expect him to take what he had said literally.

“You’re right.”

“I never thought I’d be alive to hear that,” the blonde taunted.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Steve agreed and they both got up simultaneously, climbed up the glass steps, heading upstairs. It started to look like a routine: Bucky would go change while making stupid-ass remarks, the sofa would open up in a bed, and then they would talk for a few minutes. The “bodyguard” was just hoping they wouldn’t have to face murderous muggers once again, because that crap was traumatizing. As he lied down, into the comfy blankets, already closing his eyes, the brunette opened the bathroom door, dressed to sleep, teeth brushed, and headed towards his unnecessarily gigantic bed.

“What are you doing?” he inquired.

Steve opened one eye, frowning. “Well obviously enough I’m trying to sleep here. The thing you do, but at your office.” This reply earned him an irritated laugh from the other.

“Still sassy as hell, Breakin’ Steven. You even managed to open the sofa yourself.”

“Of course, it’s better, since I sleep in there.”

“Yeah, well, not tonight,” the CEO added. “Come on. I’ll put pillows in the middle.”

 

Steve straightened his torso so he was abruptly sitting on his sofa-bed. His mouth was hanging out and he looked completely forfeited. “What?”

Bucky patted the bed as he slipped under the covers and gripped his favorite pillow, turning on his right side. “Come on.”

“Come on _what_ I’m not coming what in goddamn hell are you talking about?” Steve blurted, his ears turning slightly pink. So that’s what he meant with _“the”_ bedroom?

“Don’t be annoying, I almost got shot to death today, and without mentioning the time someone tried to choke me. To death again,” he explained, eyes closed. “I think this is enough evidence to show that my life is constantly in danger, even if you’re sleeping in the same room as me.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak. “But I-“

“Proof is, the mugger entered last time while you were in the house. So the only way to prevent any further incident is to remain the closest possible,” he concluded, feigning to fall asleep.

“ _YEAH_ but you’re taking the word _bodyguarding_ a bit too literally!!!” Steve protested, unable to believe what he was hearing. “I’m not gonna prevent attacks by fricking laying down on your body!!!” he said, and immediately regretted that poorly-phrased sentence. Jeez, things were already awkward, and he was adding up to the pile.

“Notice that I didn’t say that, you did,” the brunette joked. “I don’t what kind of fantasy you have-“

“DON’T MAKE ME LOOK LIKE THE PERVERT ONE HERE!!!” he yelled as his cheeks really started to feel warm. Bucky ignored that and patted again on the covers.

“Oooh, don’t be such a prude, we’re just two dudes in a two-meters broad bed, it won’t kill you. See, I’m putting pillows between us,” he testified, building a wall of fluffy cotton balls. “Also, I’d like to add that you’ve saved your obscenely well-paid job today, but it won’t always be the case.”

Steve angrily threw back the covers and got up. He then took his own pillow to throw it on the bed, accessorily smashing Bucky’s face. He barely heard a “ _don’t kill your boss_ ” mumbled through the blankets. The blonde sat on his new bed, removed the covers and slipped under them, very professionally. Turning off the last bedside lamp, he positioned himself like a mummified pharaoh, arms crossed on his chest, as stiff as a post. He tried not to think about the situation, without any doubt the worst he’d ever been in. Weary and drained of the capability to care, he closed his eyes, lulled by a slow and regular breathing next to him.

***

“Oh shit, it’s already that late?” Natasha realized. She had been making an inventory for two hours after dining with Clint, Sam and Wanda. The dark-haired girl who always hung out with them was sitting in front of her, holding a steaming cup of tea in her hands, an appeased look on her delicate face. “Wanda, will you do something for me?”

The girl looked up. “Yeah, of course, what do you need?”

“It’d be really sweet if tomorrow you could buy those spices at the grocery store,” the red-head said while handing out a list of ingredients. “It’s open ‘til 8 PM, so you can go after your classes. Clint and I will be busy serving clients, plus an investor will meet us. You know, since we have some money problems.”

Wanda nodded enthusiastically. “It’s great! Maybe they’ll help you with the shop, with a big check!”

“I hope, we’ll see tomorrow. Also, I would have sent Sam to do it, but he’s at the hospital until late in the night. As to Steve…”

Natasha stopped mid-sentence, looking at Wanda with her greenish knowing look. “Wait what time is it?!”

“Eleven,” the dark-haired girl answered. The other laid back in her chair, stretching and shaking her head with a smug smile. “Steve hasn’t dined with us tonight.” She articulated.

“Indeed, he didn’t.”

“Did he send you a text?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Plus, it would surprise me if he worked so late. Because according to his job, his day is over when Mister CEO goes home,” she recalled, gesturing with her wrist.

“That’s right,” Wanda acquiesced.

“On top of that, he’s already followed Mister CEO back to his home, in a strictly professional setting _of course_.”

Wanda had guessed since the first question where this was going, and she chuckled before having a gulp of her tea. Natasha was only pushing back and forth her chair, her head tilted back, a dreamy look on her face.

“Muggers, _my ass_.”

***

 

            It had been a quiet night; the kind of night where you don’t dream, you don’t have nightmares either. You just form one entity with your pillow, your blanket and your bed to plunge into one deep and soothing slumber, only to awaken to your own rhythm, not the bird’s, not the sun’s. Deeply embedded in the comfortable mattress, his body temperature perfectly unified (not too cold, not too hot), Steve felt like he might as well spent his whole life with his head thrust into his pillow. He first heard a quiet breathing, maybe his own, and proceeded to open his eyes, slowly lifting his lids. The first thing he discerned was the Great Wall of pillows; that was quite logical, since he had his face into them. Moving a little, he soon felt something else, a warm weight laid on his side, below his shoulder, just on his right ribs.

Well, the thing was an arm, and not an unknown one; brought back to reality harder than when you get slapped in the face, the pieces in his brain assembled way too quickly, almost causing a panic.

_Oh shit, this is embarrassing!_

Bucky had managed to overcome the Great Wall, in every sense of the word, slumped on a mountain of pillow, profoundly asleep like a child, his cheek resting on the fluffy material and thus deforming his face in a funny way. His arm had flown over the wall to land on the closest thing: Steve. The blonde found himself entangled in an involuntary cozy but somehow pleasant embrace. It was comfortable, but inappropriate.

He thus extended his arm to his right, towards the bedside table, to catch a glimpse of the time on his phone.

_9 : 14 AM._

 It was way too late! They should be working for at least an hour! Consequently, Steve literally removed the arm and threw his entire body out of the covers, to jump on his clothes and make as much noise as possible. In order to wake the one who _owned the firm_.

Bucky made a sound that resembled a grumble, but by far louder. He wanted to imitate an angry bear-racoon probably. He turned and turned again in his bed, trying to escape from the _fucking insufferable noise_ that prevented him from enjoying his lie-in. Then he finally raised his head, his chocolate hair ruffled so much that only his mouth appeared on his face.

“ ‘The fuck you doin’?” he belched.

Steve was gathering his stuff and heading towards the bathroom to change. “We’re going to work, you dumbass! It’s past nine o’clock!” he yelled.

“I get up at 10 usually you punk!”

“Could you work for once, you jerk?!”

Steve closed the bathroom door. He didn’t know if he was that upset because of the time, of his job, or the fact that he was laying down peacefully in his boss’ bed with his boss’ arm on his ribs. It was the time, for sure. He never slept in like that usually.

As for Bucky, he had given up any kind of retaliation. He knew he wouldn’t change Steve’s mind for a nickel, so he simply dressed up lazily – but still fashionable – and got down to eat. Steve rushed down too, and after scarfing down a delicious breakfast, he pushed the CEO outside to drive to the firm, the brown still furiously mumbling. Even Britney Spears’ _Gimme more_ didn’t bring him that much joy.

***

 

            Her brown locks tied up in a ponytail, Peggy put on her shoulder holster and on top of it a mocha-colored jacket. She had a location, and she wasn’t going to let it slip away. As she gathered some files before getting out, she was joined by another woman, with darker hair than hers, sharp features with a well-defined jaw and astonishing blue eyes.

“So you plan to monitor the area inside a car, or do you dive headfirst in?” the woman asked.

Peggy chuckled. “After days of research, the least I can do is to go straight to the point, Maria. But don’t worry, you can stay in the car if you want,” she scoffed.

“I hope you’re kidding me.”

 

 

They both arrived at the wrecking-yard, which looked like… a wrecking yard. It was one of those strange places when you don’t often go, that had its particular smell, its particular atmosphere. A bit isolated from the nearest habitations but not too far, situated at the border between town and countryside, the yard consisted in white walls and fences, with two smalls facilities that resembled rural houses. Tall grass and sandy meadows interlocked with the fences, as if Nature was somehow regaining control. Behind those walls, a plethora of cars was overlooked by mechanic devices and equipment, even a crane. A smell of burned tire rubber was emanating from the vehicle piles.

They approached a man who was manipulating a weld tool above an old Ford, projecting a blue flame and sparks when he forged the metal. The women positioned themselves so he could see them, and simply raised their badges. The man stopped.   

“What can I do for you?”

“We’re from the Crime Investigation Department, mister…”

The man seemed to hesitate for a second. “Hammer.” Maria let out a scoff.

“Well, your name kind of suits you.”

Peggy continued. “Are you the owner of this facility?”

“No, I’m an employee.”

Peggy frowned; she hadn’t seen any organigram that specified one employee. Must be a type of moonlighting. “And where can we find the owner?”

“He’s not here for now. He’s on a trip. I’ll tell him you came by,” the man declared.

“It’s not as simple as that,” Maria shot. “We want to know where he is on a trip, when he’s coming back, and for how long he’s been away.”

The man seemed a bit taken aback, but regained his phlegm rapidly. “He’s in Chile. He’ll come back in two weeks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

The two women glanced at each other, and Peggy announced. “We have a warrant for this place, so we’ll be sifting through the yard, if you don’t mind of course.” She hoped a reaction from the guy.

“Please, do.”

***

“Goddamn it,” Peggy fulminated, while closing the car’s door.

“You think he’s lying?” Maria inquired, mirroring her.

The fierce policewoman hit the steering wheel. “Of course he is. But the yard is clean. There was no evidence that a murderer or an abductor lives here. No abandoned shed. No other facilities locked up tight, that could house poor abducted girls,” she fumed.

Maria hummed in disapproval. “Maybe Hammer is the culprit? Who knows, psychopaths tend to be obscenely at ease with policemen.”

“It doesn’t fit.”

Maria raised her eyebrows, expecting an explanation. Peggy gave her a convincing one. “I checked the plane tickets, and it doesn’t fit. The owner, Mr. Shmidt, never went on a nice trip, may it be in Chile or anywhere else in the world. I’m sure he’s still running around in this town, and I am bound and determined to catch him.”

***

 

            Bucky got out of the elevator dressed in a white turtleneck jumper, on which he had thrown a denim blue oversized jacket, wearing his sunglasses indoors because he was irritated. He had tied up his hair in a messy bun due to precipitation. Steve stumbled behind him, trying to catch up since the man was outrunning him on his favorite hoverboard. Scott appeared out of nowhere in front of the president’s office door.

“Scott, you’re out?” the brunette asked, hopping on the ground.

Indeed, the secretary had gotten out of the hospital, back to his dashing suits, but still massaging his back from one time to another, and winced in pain when he saw the blonde mastodon. After all, he had been the one to inflict him such suffering.

“I am indeed, and you don’t seem that surprised,” the man sighed.

“On the contrary, I am delighted. Since you were gone, things have gone to shit. Steve right here seems to be a disruptive force in my quiet life,” the CEO jested. Steve opened his mouth to protest; but he chose to opt for a softer tone, changing the subject. He joined his hands in a praying gesture of guilt.

“Mister Lang, I’m so deeply sorry about what happened, it is inexcusable,” the blonde pleaded. “I hope that what I sent you compensated a bit for it.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, taking off his sunglasses and mechanically handing them to Scott, who had barely returned. “What did you send? To the hospital? To Scott?”

“Well, what, don’t I have the right to do that?” Steve retorted. “It’s a delicate and nice touch to do that. Not that you would know.”

“So what, he’s entitled to have nice gifts and I don’t?”

“Why would I send you those? It’s him who ended up in a hospital, not your lucky ass!”

“ _Lucky_?! Me?! And what do you have against my ass?”

Scott followed the conversation, confused. Since the last time he saw them together, they seemed to have gotten along a bit more. If one got past the appearance of a fight. “I’ll leave you together, then,” he confessed. “And, yes, Mr. Rogers, I received your gifts, I thank you.”

 

And he quickly went to his own office. Scott took the phone and dialed a number, waiting for a voice to answer his desperate call.

“Yeah, Scott Lang?” the voice inquired.

“Yes, it’s me,” the secretary said. “They both arrived at work together this morning. I suspect that they’re getting along pretty well, once you go beyond the daily fights.”

“Mm. Thank you very much for the info, Lang.”

“Listen, Sam, are we still okay for that consultation about my daughter?”

“Yeah, we are, as long as you tell me what the hell Steve is doing while he’s at work,” Sam’s voice confirmed.

“Ok, great, I don’t really trust other doctors, you know, stealing your money… Plus I think one of her baby tooth is coming loose…”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, we’ll see about that.”

 

 

Bucky threw his jacket on the sofa and collapsed on his work chair, checking his computer and a few files. Steve yet again looked at the TV depicting a threat; it reminded him of the time his boss got shot and he didn’t like that at all. “You sure you don’t want to go to the police?” he inquired.

The only replied he received was a computer screen that turned around; Bucky was indicating something. “I already have assets everywhere in this town. They owe my father, so they owe me. And let me tell you one thing: I traced the call and geolocated it. And here’s where it comes from.”

He clicked a few times to display a web page. It showed a map with a big house and a park. Steve frowned. “Isn’t this…”

“Yeah. My own father’s house.”

The blonde’s jaw dropped; everything buzzed in his head. “Wait, I don’t understand…”

“Me neither. We have three options given that a lot of people come to the house,” the brunette declared while holding up three fingers. “ _One_ , a close co-worker or one of those people I said owed my father wants me to step down. It could be motivated by greed, jealousy, but it’s a dangerous move. _Two_ , the very members of my family who don’t like me want me to step down, and in this case, there are approximately at least ten culprits. _Three_ , my own father wants me to step down because of I-don’t-know-what, which would be illogical given his advanced age and his predilection for success for his children.”

Steve remained silent, because he had nothing to say. He was so glad to have found Clint and Natasha, who loved and treasured him like a son, whereas Bucky’s family was mostly dreadful. “And who could have sent the assailants the other night?” he tried.

Bucky snapped his fingers and cracked a focused smile. “Yeah! Hopefully you mentioned this. We need to find who has connections in my family with those thugs. You’re amazing, Steve.”

The CEO dialed the police number quickly, talked with a man he apparently knew (it was Tivan), hummed a few times in agreement, remained silent for a moment, and hung up. He looked at the blonde bodyguard.

“Guess who attacked us,” he said, sighing and shaking his head.

“I… How could I know?”

The brunette got back to his chair. “The ones you beat up the first time we met. Thanos’ gang.”

Steve gasped and felt outraged, upset and revengeful. First, because of them he had to buy a phone, second, they pushed an old innocent man, third, they had attacked them at night! All that for a few punches?! Well-deserved on top of that?

“Don’t lose it, Breakin’ Steven,” the CEO chuckled.

“Well now I really want to live up to this stupid nickname you gave me,” the blonde muttered. It sparked interest in the brunette’s eyes.

“What, you want me to train you?” he added.

Steve pulled himself together. “Very funny. No, I’ll let the police do their job. And you should do yours,” he designated the computer.

“Oh my god, you’re so boring.”

***

 

Nakia entered the fiery policewoman’s office with a pile of new files; her dark-skinned face was brightened by hope and interest. She dropped them on the desk, as Peggy lifted her head.

“New info to cheer you up, well, in some way,” she asserted. “Sharon and Okoye investigated on their own too, and the lab found something interesting.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow as her ink eyes sparkled with a renewed interest. She took the first page to read it quickly.

“You got the origin of the shoes? The footprints on the crime scene?”

Nakia nodded her head. “Yup. Remember, we found them abnormally big for normal feet. And it’s because they aren’t normal. The prints are from borrowed shoes, that are yet to be found.”

The brunette eagerly read the files, her mouth hanging open. “ _Bluebeard_?”

“Don’t ask me how, but the girls managed to investigate the backstage of the opera, where they play _Bluebeard_. I guess you know the story,” the black woman conceded.

Indeed, Peggy knew that story, and she didn’t like this at all. “The man who locked up his wives’ corpses in a secret room. A made-to-measure tale for a murderer wannabe artist who wants to recreate legends in reality.”

Nakia nodded once more, but this time solemnly. “I think you need to know that the shoes for the play aren’t at the opera anymore. They’re nowhere to be found.”

 

_The wrecking yard in West Shores_

 

Peggy was 100% sure the answer was right under her eyes. “ _Nowhere to be found_ ”; well she was going to find them. She walked towards the white walls and fences, entering for the second time the yard. Hammer was still here, but he seemed however far more surprised and unsettled of this impromptu visit than last time. He almost dropped his tool. Indeed, the policewoman had arrived without a warning nor a warrant, and entered the main house where the owner should be.

She burst open the door. She faced a tall man, oddly well-dressed and clean, shaved and his hair done. He didn’t look like the owner of a wrecking yard. The man widened his eyes in astonishment, but feigned to be surprised because of the woman’s abrupt entrance.

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” he asked with an unbearable calm voice.

“I see that Chile isn’t to your taste, Mr. Shmidt. Mind if I ask you any questions?” she shot.

“I do, yes. I do mind. Because you have no right to be here, unless you display a warrant,” the man threatened, but always tranquil. It was winding up the fiery brunette.

The policewoman showed the precedent warrant, legally expired, but the man didn’t know that. Only Nakia knew; they had talked about it in the office.

“Now, shall we begin?”

The man chuckled. “Well, well, agent Carter, I am shocked. A seasoned policewoman like you who dares to present me an outdated warrant; that is for sure very unlawful.”

Peggy stopped. She couldn’t believe that he knew this kind of information; neither had she specified that she was an _agent_ , that she was a _seasoned policewoman_ or that, worse, she displayed such a warrant. However, she didn’t let any of that show, maintain her position and digging her heels in the ground.

“It is not more unlawful than culpable homicide and multiple abductions,” she shot back. Once again, Shmidt laughed at her accusations, sweeping them aside. “Culpable homicide, agent? Can you prove that I am somehow _culpable_? Because that’s what the police do, isn’t it? They prove things.”

He moved closer, stepping towards her. “They collect evidence, analyze it, explore tracks and hypotheses, and finally, when all of this is done, they go to court. Because of the presumption of innocence, you need to follow all these steps before accusing me.” The last sentence had been deliberately pronounced childishly, as to mock Peggy. She knew she was going to regret that, but at that moment, she didn’t think really straight.

She grabbed his collar and looked directly at him. She wasn’t afraid of him; she wanted him to rot in prison. The other held back his breath in astonishment due to this sudden violent gesture. “Who are you role-playing, a law teacher?” she hissed.

“I’m teaching you your job, and you're doing it _veeery_ badly,” Shmidt sang, smiling sadistically.

The woman tightened her grip, shaking the man’s head. “Where are the girls? You’re compromised.” She tried to show off with yet missing evidence.

“Did you see any girls around? I didn’t. I only see you. But you’re not a girl, you’re a woman. A delectable but hot-tempered woman,” he said. “It will lose you.”

Peggy threw him on the ground; his body hit the floor and made a thunderous noise, breaking a table behind him. He grunted while trying to get up. Suddenly, Maria barged in the room to catch her by the arms, and to prevent her from doing more damage.

“Peggy, what are you doing?! We can’t do that!”

She forced her to get out, pushing her towards the door as the brunette was obsessed by the man laying on the floor. As she was being forcedly removed, she caught a glimpse of a dark blue object that had been revealed by the broken table.

 

Blue shoes.

 

She yelled that the proof was right here, fighting back her colleague, pointing the table; but she had crossed the line, and her whole job as a policewoman was at stake. As another colleague came to assist Maria and got her out, Shmidt wiped the blood coming out of his mouth and smiled.

***

_The Rush(ian) Hour, the same day_

 

“Clint! I need two _kvasses_!” Natasha ordered while dealing with other commands. But it was a relatively quiet day; only half of the shop was full. The red-head wondered if they would ever regain her previous customer base. Dang, that murderer was a double bitch! Murdering people and making her go bankrupt!

Clint brought the two drinks, and joined his wife behind the counter. Seeing that there wasn’t a lot of customers, he allowed himself a break. He took Natasha’s shoulders, gently stroking them in a reassuring motion.

“Are you okay? You seem a bit off,” he inquired, a serious look on his face. Natasha sighed and fidgeted on a ten-dollar bill.

“Clint, I hate that murderous macho bastard cunt. He’s killing off people and our industry.”

The husband laughed in discomfort. “Hey, don’t you think the comparison is a bit abusive? Look at us. We’re in a pretty shop, we serve nice customers and we have beautiful and talented children.”

Natasha took his hand, trying to crack a smile even if she only thought about their debts. “True. By the way, Steve could at least call me. I hope he at least slept with his boss a few times.”

Clint stepped back with a despaired expression. “Are you going to fricking prostitute your son? I’m going to start thinking you project _your_ fantasies onto our dear child.”

The red-head giggled. “What, you’re jealous?”

“Maybe,” Clint jested.

“Don’t worry, I have kind of a crush on you.”

“Awww, baby, you have a crush on me? That’s adorable!”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “We’re _married_ , Clint.”

“Still!”

As they fooled around a little, Natasha yet again reiterated her wish to see her money problems disappear. “See, love is not gonna wash away debts. We’re not in a musical.”

“Who knows, maybe it’s just a bad pass, a rough time,” Clint assured. “It won’t last.”

“It _will_ last, unless the God of Money himself manifests through this door,” she whined.

 

The bell rang, and a man appeared in the door frame. Everyone was suddenly captivated by him: entirely dressed in a black suit with a loose shirt, wearing a little tribal necklace, he had the presence of a king and the poise of an emperor. His glowing ebony skin with cool undertones covered his well-defined face, framed by short black curly hair. He put his wise gaze on the shop, observing the environment, the customers and the owners. Natasha and Clint looked at each other, confused.

“Hello, what can I get you?” Clint asked.

The man moved slowly but assuredly, and turned his head towards the unaware husband. He extended his hand and Clint took it mechanically, before wondering what he was doing.

“My name is T’Challa, son of T’Chaka, and this is Ayo my bodyguard,” the man affirmed.

 _Well, she looks like a real bodyguard_ , Clint thought. _Not that I would criticize Steve._

“I would like to make a proposal to you,” he continued.

“Erm, yeah? You sure you don’t want to drink first?”

“No, thank you mister,” he answered. “However, I would like to buy this shop.”

The whole coffee went silent, at least those who had heard the proposal. Natasha left the counter to rush towards the man. “What? You want to buy us?!”

T’Challa greeted the red-head. “Are you the owner?”

“I am, with my husband.”

“I am interested in buying a few facilities in this neighborhood to reinvigorate economic activities in the area, which, to my sense, has a lot of potential,” T’Challa declared.

“Well obviously you haven’t heard of the news,” Clint shot, before being hit in the ribs by Natasha. The dark-skinned man chuckled.

“On the contrary, I am very aware of the current events. But let’s say it is a long-term investment.”

Natasha frowned. “In _here_? Are you sure you’re a good investor though? I don’t want any scam.”

T’Challa took out an unknown electronic device that projected a black logo. “I am the president of this firm. I make 150 million dollars annually.”

Natasha clutched her husband like a lifeguard buoy, eyes wide because of the amounts of money. But she remained suspicious. “But how will you transform this place if we sign? If we agree?”

The black entrepreneur nodded in understanding. “I have one demand for my newly bought shops.”

The couple held his breath. The customers did too.

“I want it to become a cat café.”

And he left, as his bodyguard gave Clint and Natasha another electronic device that looked like a chip and displayed the amount of 200 000 dollars for their shop. He could have as well thrown money in their faces. The two jumped in excitement and kissed, relieved that the _Rush’_ was going to become even better: it will have cats.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if a warrant can actually expire...  
> Anyway, Scott is on the right track (like Natasha), Peggy is going to kick some ass, Bucky is going to suspect his entire family, and T'Challa just kind of throws money everywhere to solve problems. Truly an icon.  
> Due to finals coming soon, I won't be posting for at least a month! So, for those who read this and whom I thank a thousand times, please be patient :)


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

Steve and Bucky were sitting at the firm’s cafeteria. The blonde was devouring the content of his plate, that is to say a large piece of fried beef, roasted potatoes, salad, tomatoes, with some bread, cheese and an apple-pie. The brunette facing him had finished a normal food intake, sipping on coffee as usual, and stared at the blonde, half-fascinated and half-jaded.

“Is the fact that we’re close to discover the identity of my harasser stressing you out? Because I’ve never seen someone eat that much in a 10 minutes time period,” he declared.

Steve lifted his head up, his cheek a bit round because of the apple slice he “savored”.

“You may not be aware of it, but there’s a lot going on these days,” he answered. “I’m just trying to register all that and think about the future.”

“You think with your stomach?”

Steve didn’t even roll his eyes; he simply took the most blasé expression he could master. If he rolled his eyes every time Bucky said something stupid, he would have severed his optic nerve a long time ago.

“I’ll have you know that the stomach is like a second brain, but more primitive,” the blonde petulantly said. He then regained his seriousness. “Also, I haven’t heard from Peggy, it’s worrisome.”

Bucky remained silent. He tried to decrypt his interlocutor’s attitude while speaking of the impetuous policewoman, looking at his eyes, the way he skeptically pouted, his pursued lips conveying concern. He was looking for physical signs of love-sickness, since Peggy was his massive high-school crush. How could she not be though?

“Maybe she’s catching the rapist in your neighborhood,” Bucky guessed.

“He’s not a rapist, well, we don’t know that yet. But after what he did, it wouldn’t surprise me if he… If…”

Steve was struggling with words, not because of fear and anxiety, but because of anger. Pure, raw wrath. It has been a long time since he had felt that way; and that was not a good thing. It meant that if he ever found himself facing that monster, he would break the 206 bones of his body that Sam had been studying in med school. Chocolate locks appeared in his visual field.

“Are you okay?” the CEO asked. The blonde moved back slightly, surprised by the proximity of his boss’ face. Well, he wasn’t _that_ close, but he had moved closer since the last time Steve had looked him in the eyes and with everything that happened lately, he needed to focus. On what, that was a good question. Sometimes his mind wandered in dangerous paths. He stared at Bucky’s genuinely concerned light-blue eyes, almost grey.

“I am, I am. So, what’s today’s plan?” he asked. “Shopping, as usual?”

The brunette chuckled, shaking his head. “No. You’re going to be surprised, but today I have a meeting with a few shareholders and some investors. Which is why we’re eating here. You’ll have to remain outside the room for about two hours, will that be alright?”

Steve raised his eyebrows and almost whistled. “Wooow, you have a _meeting_? And you’re going to talk about _work_? That’s tremendously abnormal.”

“You’re really lucky to keep your job thanks to my magnanimous personality.”

“I’m sorry boss,” Steve shot without being the least sorry in the world. “I’ll wait outside. I’ll feel like a real bodyguard.”

Bucky stifled a laugh. “Pff! As if we didn’t have enough trouble until today that required your skills. Also, I’ll have to check a few things with the Design Department, it’s gonna take some time. In short, we’ll get out of this building very late, at 7 in the evening.”

“Oh my god, it’s almost a day of work. Guess we should get going, then,” Steve advised.

***

 

            She opened her eyes slowly. They were sticky because of dried tears and dirt; she prepared to raise her arms so that she could rub them. But as she completed the movement, she felt a heavy cold metal on her wrists; she wanted to pull her hands towards her face, but something was preventing her to do so. A sudden tremor as she pulled more violently made things clear: she was chained. Like an _animal_. As she started crying, she repeated the gesture helplessly, losing all rationality. Then, she got up on her thin legs, wearing a weird fabric.

It was a dress, initially white, but tainted of soot and dust. A wedding dress.

The girl managed to get close to the cause of her chaining: someone had put her in a cell, that seemed to be underground. No light was entering, and it smelt of burned tires. Was it a basement? A cellar? An abandoned prison? The girl couldn’t think straight. She then recalled the dreadful moment when she faced her abductor; he had that awful mask on, peeling like old skin.

She grabbed the bars of her cell, her mouth twisted in despair and her eyes unstoppably crying. With the strength she had left, she started to shout and scream as loud as she could, for five whole minutes.

Then, the door opened. By the time she understood the visitor was no one else but the _man_ , she collapsed on the ground. He approached furiously, walking fast and hitting the ground, and stampeded the cell. His arms hit the cell bars, producing a thunderous metal noise. Then, he proceeded to open the door, rushed towards the girl and gripped her chin with so much force, that her traits were deformed.

“Do that again _once_ and you’ll remember making that choice. The bad one, obviously,” he spit. Then, as she flinched to avoid him, eyes intensely closed, he got closer, and his voice softened.

“This is so painfully simple,” he continued, caressing her cheek. “Why can’t you obey? I won’t hurt you, you are the first wife.”

He forced her to stay still as he kissed her. Then, he left, closing the metal bars and plunging her in the dark.

“The play will begin when I’ll have all the characters.”

 

***

 

            “Can you explain?”

Maria had her arms crossed in discontent, leaning on a desk, her shining cerulean eyes almost shooting lightning bolts. Her pale lips were shut tight in trepidation, waiting for an explanation. Her clear voice emerged from the constant buzzing coming from the police station and the offices. Peggy was facing her, slumped on a chair, legs spread wide in disillusionment. Her arms were simply flabbily resting on her knees; she fought the urge to curl up and lower her head into her hands. Instead, she violently sat up straight, and tried to keep her voice steady and calm.

“Maria, you _don’t_ understand,” she almost hissed. “This… human garbage is the culprit. We were _this close_ of nailing him.”

The other brunette sighed, brows furrowed. “You know that a simple hunch is not enough evidence to nail someone? I mean, Peggy, you work at the _police station_! Our job is to build a convincing case so that the person who is presumed innocent is found guilty!” she raised her voice.

Peggy got up furiously. “I _had_ the evidence, right in front of my eyes, and yours, and his, because he hasn’t been careful! The bloody theater shoes Nakia told us about!”

Maria uncrossed her arms, shaking her head. “I know damn well there were evidence, but do you realize what you’ve done? You punched a _presumed culprit_ ‘til his nose was bleeding! The scales tip in his favor with your behavior!”

Peggy held her colleague’s stare, feet rooted in the ground. She was radiating anger and frustration. She sought understanding from the other woman whom she respected, but all she found was disbelief and perplexity. Her blue eyes expressed an unappealable judgement.

“I don’t recognize you anymore, Peggy,” Maria let out, desperate. “I know that you always have had that… boiling rage that, somehow, pushed you forward instead of dragging you down. And I admire it, really! But now, you seem like another person. You forget the key principles of you job as a police officer. I don’t know if it’s this case that upsets you, or if you have other problems in your daily life, but something’s wrong.”

The fiery policewoman felt hopeless; not only had she failed capturing the culprit, but on top of that everyone thought she was crazy. But somehow, she hadn’t been able to control herself, when she saw that disgusting, loathsome killer who spent his free time destroying the life of innocent young girls. She had seen through his soul, and it was dark and rotten. Peggy thought about the next victims in Steve’s neighborhood, because it was certain that he would not stop. In most adaptations, Bluebeard had five wives minimum.

 _Steve’s neighborhood_ … _Why?_ To add to the pile, Steve could be involved in this. Peggy didn’t yet know how, but knowing him, with a moral compass sometimes more inflexible than hers, he would soon be in danger. Especially since he was not accustomed to violence. She had always felt protective when it came to him. It was… some kind of big sister instinct?

The brunette felt odd all of a sudden. Was it a… _big sister_ instinct though? God, she hated the state of confusion she was plunged in. Peggy wanted things to be clear, starkly contrasted, straight, separate… She wanted killers on electric chairs and rapists fed to the polar bears. But things were confused, confusing and foggy; their borders were never well-defined, because life was not a painting. And the woman started to wonder if what she felt towards Steve was as clear-cut as what she thought. Maybe her inexplicably bold and erratic behavior stemmed from her mixed feelings.

Maria left, and Peggy was alone with the pictures of abducted girls hanging on the walls.

 

***

 

            Steve was standing in front of an opaque double-door, unlike all the other entrances in the building, which were made of glass. He vaguely heard from time to time speech sounds and voices, but the overall meeting seemed rather calm. It was probably very boring, with PowerPoint presentations displaying colorful charts and graphs that nobody cared about. The blonde was glad to pose as a bodyguard, feet rooted and shoulders back, holding his hands behind his back and staring at one particular point on the blank wall in front of him.

 

 _Mmmm actually no._ That was extremely boresome too. He’d rather not be there. What could happen anyway? Bucky was with at least 20 people, in a secured room in a secured building, with cameras and alarms, the whole nine yards. After all, the only times they had been attacked were at Bucky’s house. Maybe he could be useful instead of standing up there, trying to look cool.

The blonde thus glanced left, right, and left the doors, to head towards the CEO’s office, where his “littler” office was too anyway. Yes, Bucky had brought a stupid little desk for Steve in his own office, so he would be able to draw in his spare time. Whatever the furniture arrangement was, the bodyguard was going to tidy up a little that mess, especially Bucky’s desk. The guy was working with piles of files, unused envelopes, paper sheets, coffee cups…

Steve headed towards said desk. As he cleaned up a little and put the files in the right drawers, without obviously checking on classified things, he glanced at the computer screen. Apparently, Bucky had done some research on his harasser’s identity. An unusual software (which seemed only used by the police, Steve was quite sure) had finished to load, and had seemingly sorted out all kinds of information. The blonde looked closer.

A particular logo appeared; it was allegedly the firm used to transfer money. _Dirty_ money. Steve made the connection: it was through this site belonging to this firm that Thanos’ gang had been paid to “take care” of Bucky. Those _bastards_. This meant that the owner of the firm wanted the brunette’s downfall.

Steve stopped for a second, frozen. He had seen that logo, a minute ago. Where had he seen it…? A combination of two blue triangles. _Think,_ he ordered to himself, _where did I see those goddamn triangles?_

 

It struck him. Twenty minutes ago, when he was standing in front of the doors, as all the shareholders and investors were entering the room. He saw a man shaking Bucky’s hand, holding onto a pile of files, with the blue logo on them. Steve had only seen them sideways, but he was a hundred percent sure that was the same drawing.

 

And the man had been sent by Alexander Pierce, Bucky’s uncle.

 

 

 

 

 

            The meeting ended, eventually. Steve felt like every passing minute was an hour long. A flock of dark three-pieces suit-wearing men got out, all looking alike, and the blonde bodyguard ferociously looked at the man carrying the papers with the blue logo, like a watchdog ready to bite. Then, standing out of all those tired and boring men, Bucky closed the door, wearing a grey suit that particularly fitted him. He seemed rather content, and Steve was about to ruin his day.

“So, did you have fun taking root in front of the door?” the brunette cackled, true to form.

Steve tried to squeeze out a smile, but he had always been a terrible liar. He wanted Bucky’s well-being, but he also wanted him to know the truth. “Yeah, erm… don’t worry about that.”

“Are… you ok-“

“I need to talk to you. Right now,” he demanded. His sentence was followed by a firm grip on the CEO’s wrist, who was as startled as an out-of-water carp. The blonde opted for the first quiet corner they could find in the building.

Just as Bucky was wondering what the blonde had in mind, which probably didn’t match what _he had in mind_ – hm what was that? – he worried about his interlocutor’s expression.

“You look pretty shaken up…” he managed to whisper before being interrupted.

“Pierce is the one who ordered all of this,” Steve blurted without any warning, unable to keep the truth to himself any longer.

He watched the slow crumble of a face he loved so much. And that was heart-wrenching. Bucky’s eyes were glued on Steve’s, until he tardily looked down, his lashes covering his gaze. His mouth was ajar, and he didn’t even frown; for a moment, he stood still, frozen. In fact, the CEO had hoped and hoped that the truth wouldn’t be this one, but deep down, he still had that haunting hunch that his family was going to ruin him. And he had been right. He just couldn’t fathom the fact that his _direct_ family, his _uncle_ , who had supported his father when his mother died, did this to him. He didn’t even question Steve’s assertion.

He finally let out a sigh. All of his memories including Pierce flashed before his eyes; every fake laugh, every sarcastic jibe about his firm, he recalled them. They took on a whole new meaning now. Bucky should have known, and he would have, if he hadn’t been trying to blind himself with a family love he didn’t feel. He tried to laugh, but the kind of laugh you make to persuade your brain that everything is fine. And he knew that with Steve, it was useless to play this role. The role of a cheeky and snarky insufferable kid, who let all of his problems brush off his shoulders. So he looked again in the blonde vibrant blue eyes, and allowed himself to furrow his brows. Without any words, Steve understood his pain; after all, he shared the half with him. They both had suffered from Pierce’s planned attacks. But to Bucky, this represented the treason he didn’t need. And this sight was unbearable to the bodyguard.

Without thinking, he spread his arms and took the CEO into a compassionate embrace. Bucky opened his eyes wide at first, not used to such displays of comfort and affection; but he soon learned to enjoy the soothing warmth of loving arms. It has been so long since someone had held him like this. Being approximatively the same height as Steve, he buried his head on his shoulder, and patted with one hand his back. His ear was against the blonde man’s torso, hearing his slow and reassuring heartbeat; the regular thumps soothing him. The other was holding him tight, both arms around his shoulders and back. Then, after a few seconds, they parted, putting back the professional distance that usually was between them.

“I think I’ll have a few words with my kin,” he broke the silence quietly.

Steve looked at the brown-haired man. “What are you going to tell him?”

Bucky seemed to think about it. He proceeded to rub his head. “You know what? Actually I’m not gonna talk. I’m gonna act.”

The blonde frowned, half-impatient to know but half-concerned about the man’s intentions. Yes, he was beyond angry and feeling betrayed, but he hoped he wasn’t going to… kill him or something. The brunette cracked the first smile since Steve had revealed the truth, and it was a rather sadistic one. He proceeded to display a little silver chip, of advanced technology; the design was unknown. Bucky waved it in front of Steve’s eyes, proud of his tiny object. “This is a gift from one of the investor, it comes from a secluded country. They say it’s technology’s future.”

The blonde was only frowning deeper. “Bucky, what are you gonna do?”

***

 

            “This is not what I had in mind!” Steve yelled, standing in front of a gigantic house.

“Come on Breakin’ Steven, don’t chicken out!” Bucky answered from inside the property, behind a tall metal fence that closed an immense garden. Since they were in a rich neighborhood, no house was close from theirs. Well, _Pierce’s_.

 _ME? Chicken out?_ Steve was outraged. He jumped above the fence almost effortlessly, contrary to his boss who previously tried not to get impaled on the metal spikes. He joined the brown-haired man who was standing next to a beautiful, brand-new sports car; Bucky stuck the chip on it.

“No one will hear the alarm,” he indicated. “The chip neutralized the control panel and the whole car system.”

He was wearing a grey hoodie that hid his arms; he let out a crowbar that was stuffed inside the sleeve. “Now, my dear employee, knock yourself out,” he chuckled. This assertion was punctuated by a violent blow on the door car, which made a metallic destruction noise. Bucky started to knock out the car’s rear-view mirrors, ripped off the windshield wipers, broke in a thousand pieces the headlights. He was boiling in rage but really enjoying himself, breathing erratically and swearing under his breath. Steve, even if that was technically illegal, really wanted to join him. And he did.

By the end of the afternoon, the car looked like César’s compacted car wrecks; Steve, with his strength, had transformed the once vehicle in a pile of tires and steel. Bucky was laughing, and wrote in black indelible spray “HARASSER” upon the veranda’s windows.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” the brunette said, out of breath. “You won’t do any extra hours.”

***

 

 

Wanda stepped out of the classroom, and crossed the university campus, her khaki bag loosely dancing on the edge of her shoulder. The cool night breeze blew in her auburn hair. She took the bus to get home, and arrived at the entrance of her neighborhood. Just as she took the main street to head to the _Rush’_ , her phone vibrated.

_Oh shit, I almost forgot!_

Natasha had asked her to go get some spice for the shop. Her course had ended at 7 PM, so she felt a bit tired, but she wanted to be of service to the courageous couple. They handled everything in the shop on their own, and they were struggling with debts; that was the least she could do, especially since the grocery store was open until 8. She changed her trajectory to enter a side street, and eventually arrived at the closest store, still lit up with a pale neon light. Wanda checked the list which indexed all the spice Tasha needed to cook, and bought everything. Getting out of the shop after greeting the owner, she headed back home, a few blocks away from the _Rush’_.

Even if summer was coming up, the days were still pretty short, and the night was falling on the city, covering everyone with its celestial indigo blanket. The street lamps projected the same yellow light. Wanda held tight on the plastic bag which contained the precious ingredients and walked fast. With everything that happened, she didn’t want any trouble. She opted for a shortcut through an alley that would lead her directly to the _Rush’_.

 

Without any warning, she felt a hand violently apply a handkerchief on her mouth. Another arm gripped her upper body. Wanda screamed first and, panicked, she threw her elbow inside the mugger’s ribs. It made him let go of her momentarily, jerking backwards and crouching on the ground. The girl shouted for help, her voice breaking in fear, engulfed in tears. Her throat was sore, and she was beginning to feel unwell; even if she had broken free, the product on the handkerchief started to take effect. Her freedom did not last long. The man rushed towards her again, and brutally hit her behind the head. Wanda collapsed on the ground, after trying to scream one last time.

***

 

            Steve and Bucky had arrived in Bel Air neighborhood. As they stepped out of the CEO’s car, they heard a high-pitched screech shredding the quiet night. A _woman’s_ cry for help. Just by looking at each other, they sprinted towards the noise source.

***

 

Just as the man was picking Wanda up, now unconscious, he received another blow behind his leg, by far stronger than what the poor girl had done. The mugger fell down pathetically, causing Wanda to hit the ground as well. He turned around and saw her.

Peggy was panting, standing in front of him, handcuffs in one hand and a gun in the other. She proceeded to knock him out with a punch, but the aggressor was not so easily defeated. He dodged the strike to bludgeon the policewoman with a metal pipe lying on the ground. Severely injured, she joined the comatose girl on the ground, still dimly lit in a yellow light, and crawled towards the lying body to protect it. The man had straightened, looking down on them from his imposing size. Peggy reached for her gun, but he kicked it with his foot, striking the woman’ hand at the same time. She managed to kick him one last time in the stomach, suddenly extending her leg. He backed away, staggering, but still standing.

“You _really_ had to do that, _Carter_ ,” his hushed voice said. He hit the policewoman once again on the head, like he did with Wanda, and moved her to throw her further. Finally, he took a knife.

 

“WANDA!” Steve cried out. He ran towards the masked man, who raised the metal bar he was still holding. As he proceeded to hit the blonde with it, Steve caught the weapon. His teary eyes were jumping from the mask to Wanda and Peggy’s lying bodies, and he began to roar in grief. “You _monster_ …”

Bucky was kneeling down beside the two women. Steve focused his eyes on the man he loathed so much, detailing his peeling fake skin. The latter couldn’t believe that a blonde simpleton was holding the metal bar as if it weighed nothing, as if his strength had evaporated. And before him, he was indeed powerless. Steve clutched the metal to bend it, effortlessly, under the astonished gaze of the abductor. But the man took advantage of his suffering to take his knife and strike. Steve parted at the last moment, receiving an injury on his torso, causing a burning cut. He flinched in pain, and received a punch in the jaw. The man was stronger than what he looked. Peggy was still lying on the ground, and that usually never happened. Worse, _Steve_ was lying on the ground, his head buzzing.

Bucky had rushed towards him to help; he tried to throw a punch, that the man countered to twist his wrist. The brown-haired man collapsed on the ground, crying in pain. Steve’s blood was boiling; he got up to give a brutal punch right in the abductor’s face, who flew meters away from them.

By the time they all regained steadiness except for Wanda, the aggressor was gone. As Steve knelt beside the girl, holding her in his arms, the paramedics siren tore up the air. They had a chance to catch him, and they had failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am alive and well!  
> Hope you will enjoy this! If anyone wants to look up César works, it's a French sculptor who... wrecks cars. That's his thing. So of course I had to make a reference in this chapter...  
> Thanks for those who still like this story, which is getting really long!


	7. Chapter 7

 

            They had been at the hospital for two hours now. Wanda was deeply asleep, in an artificial slumber due to the numerous drugs that had been administrated to her. Steve had refused to leave the room until she relaxed completely, sure that she was safe. Her dark hair, loose, was wreathing her livid skin; her pale cheek displayed a cut due to her fall, and a drip needle was deeply embedded in her wrist epiderma. The blonde, who was also injured, decided – reluctantly – to leave his friend with Natasha and Clint, as devastated by sorrow than him. The red-head felt especially responsible for what happened, despite Clint’s relentless reassuring words.

            Steve was called in a little practice for less serious wounds; he recognized a familiar figure, with shoulder-length brown locks. Always well-dressed, even in the worst situations. And this was clearly the worst thing the blonde had experienced. Sam was standing behind Bucky, tinkering with bandages and doctor stuff. The black man turned around after hearing the door being opened.

“Steve, you okay?” he asked first, but without letting him answer. “Come sit down, I’ll examine you.”

The blonde complied, nodding, and sat down in front of his boss on a chair. The right side of his face was starting to turn violet-blue, an intense bruise forming on his cheekbone. He also held his rib.

“Were you badly hurt, boss?” he said as a bodyguard. Bucky frowned and refrained from yelling at him.

“ _Boss_? Really? And you ask me about myself, when you’re clearly the one he attacked?”

“I was supposed to protect you,” the blonde quoted the contract. But there was more to it than mere professionalism. “And Wanda…”

“Tell me about her. Is she alright?”

“She is now,” the blonde nodded. “Hopefully the blow didn’t cause a brain concussion nor an internal hemorrhage. But she needs some rest.”

“Obviously she does…” Bucky sighed. “Sam, take care of your brother,” he called the doctor. He was welcomed by a “scornful” glare. “No offense dude, but since when are we intimate?” the other shot.

“Well, we had a moment when you put on the split on my wrist,” the brown-haired CEO jested, lighting up the mood. Sam played along; this was the beginning of a _very particular_ friendship, permeated with sarcasms and insults as displays of affection.

“Didn’t know you were _that_ horny. You missed Steve that much?”

Bucky almost strangled himself, and took time to retort something smug – a rarity. This family would be the death of him. Steve was used to Sam’s jibes, but this one was particularly unsettling and embarrassing.

“SAM! What is wrong with you?!”

“Come on you uptight morons, I’m joking,” he smirked. “Steve, show me your cheek and your torso.”

The blonde did as he was told. As Sam was applying a lotion and bandaging the cut on his rib, he spoke without precaution, aware that the CEO knew about his brother’s power.

“How come you got hurt? You’re not an easy target,” he shot. Steve shook his head and sighed.

“It’s not just me. Peggy was there – by the way, where is she?” the blonde stopped mid-sentence.

“I took care of her, she recovered quickly, and is waiting for you both somewhere. Something to do with her job and testimonies I guess,” Sam reassured. “So, do you mind finishing your sentence?”

The other acquiesced. “Okay, well, she was down too, and she’s a trained agent. The… _man_ we faced, all four of us, he’s not like everyone. Not only has he murderous tastes, but he also possess inhumane force. Like me.”

“Except there’s nothing inhumane about you, Steve,” Bucky felt the need to tell his bodyguard this, and the other gently gazed at him.

“Either way, the abductor and murderer is endowed with super-strength, if that’s what you’re saying,” Sam summed up. “It’s a serious problem. Peggy should have been able to nail him. Now we don’t even know where he is…”

Steve looked down. If he had been stronger, more resilient, maybe more _trained_ , he would have been able to stop him. Because all in all, he was for now the only one capable of putting an end to this terror. He had the certitude that the masked-man was stronger than any policeman he would ever encounter, physically and intellectually. He had outsmarted them twice – but only Peggy knew that – and outran them once. Steve could no longer hide in the shadows and pretend to be a good citizen by letting the police do their job. The _right thing to do_ was to act. It’s what he had advised Bucky in a very condescending tone, the first time he met him. Now he needed to put his own demands into effect.

The door of the practice burst open, and the three men jumped on their respective seats.

 

“MR. BARNES!!!”

Scott barged in the room, a bodacious flower bouquet in his hands that almost hid his face. Sam got up in a flash and exploded. “SIR, you are not allowed – Lang?!”

Steve and Bucky were staring at the two. “What are you doing here, this is not for the public!”

“You’re perfectly aware that I’m Mr. Barnes’ employee! I want to know what happened!” the secretary pleaded, a bit shallowly.

“Yeah, after all, you know how uncomfortable it is to stay at the hospital,” the doctor cackled. Scott turned his head to glare at him, unhappy to revive memories he’d like to bury. Bucky finally interrupted.

“Wait… you two… know each other?”

“I won’t remind you the painful experience I endured in the wake of your bodyguard’s nomination, Mr. Barnes,” the secretary almost cried.

“Ah yeah, the wall!” Bucky understood with no tact whatsoever, for Scott as for Steve who still felt ashamed.

“Yeah, the _wall_ ,” Sam stifled a laugh. “In short, I took care of him when he was on forced leave.” Scott side-eyed him.

Of course, they had to tell Lang the truth, and it was worrisome for the least. The secretary was mortified that the head of the company could have succumbed to the injuries inflicted by a psychopath murderer. He first wanted to have a word with Steve, but noticed that the atmosphere was rather tense, and knew Steve had done what he could. As they were all discussing, the door opened again, and Sam tried not to yell at the dumbasses who thought they were in a fucking open-bar.

“This room is NOT for the pu-“

He received a hand in the face. Natasha’s. But it was a gentle blow, or at least that’s what she liked to call them. She rushed towards Steve and Bucky, Clint walking in her footsteps and rubbing Sam’s cheek in recomfort. “Oh my God, my children,” she lamented. “What did I do to anyone to have my children hurt in this way?”

Her eyes were still teary; after all, she had just left Wanda’s room. She took Steve’s face in her hands. “ _He_ did this to you? The bruise?” She looked down. “And the knife cut too?”

“How do you know it’s a knife cut?” Steve wondered out loud.

“I know a lot of things,” she mysteriously answered. Clint made a “accept it and don’t ask” gesture. Then, she turned to Bucky.

“I can’t believe he dared to attack you too. What a monster.”

The CEO scratched his head, feeling stupid. “Well, erm, actually, _I_ tried to attack him. Bad call, obviously.”

The red-head was still kneeling beside the two men, visibly affected. But true to herself, always bouncing back, she lifted her head and spoke.

“Steve, you need to stop this motherfucker. This has to stop.”

***

            Steve was roaming the hospital corridors with Bucky; Nat and Clint had returned to Wanda’s room, along with Sam. The CEO had told Scott to wait at the reception. As they both leaned against the white aseptic walls, Peggy walked towards them, massaging the back of her head.

“You both are good?” she asked, concerned.

“We are,” Steve said. “Peggy, I don’t know if you saw-“

“The guy. And you fighting him,” she blurted. “I saw everything, even with a brain missing.”

The two men were dumbfounded, but not by the same things. Steve was frozen on the spot, whereas Bucky almost whistled in amazement.

“You saw everything?”

“Your _brain_ was missing?”

The fiery brunette agreed to both asks. “The doctor said that I was _this close_ ,” she punctuated the sentence with a gesture of her fingers, “to having my cerebellum torn to pieces. I’ll keep that in mind when I meet this horseshit-eating scum again.”

Bucky was truly frightened by this woman. In no way would he have the upper hand when he was with her. His blonde acolyte was, in turn, livid and completely immobile.

“And _yes_ Steve, I saw you.  I was… hoping you could enlighten me.” She was ostensibly troubled by the past of her childhood friend, and what he had been hiding to her.

            Steve thus proceeded to tell her everything. Another person who was now abreast of his secret. With Bucky and Scott, it started to make a lot in a two-weeks span. Nonetheless, Peggy was not only open-minded, but also focused.

“I guess I have no other choice than to believe you… So after all, your heavyset stature served a purpose other than esthetics,” she tried to laugh, a soft gaze in her eyes. She was not at all mad at Steve.

However, the same could not be said about Bucky. He was caught in the middle of a conversation that had as a main theme “ _Revelations and hidden talents: how to reclaim your high-school crush_ ”, and it was everything but pleasant to him. The way she looked at him, softened, like no one made her feel before, and this blonde dumbass, who jumped on the first piece of gratitude and attention this ruthless woman gave him. Insufferable.

No… Actually, Bucky came to the striking realization that he was… _jealous_. He had trouble to form the word, even in the darkest corners of his secluded mind. The concept appeared stupid and childish and selfish to him, but he found no other term to express what he was feeling. There probably was a type of jealousy linked to sharing one’s bodyguard with someone else. Yes, obviously that was that kind of jealousy. The CEO was brought back to earth by a thunderous feminine voice.

“No. I refuse to let you take part in the investigation,” she demanded to Steve’s attention. “It is far too dangerous, you paid the price already. And your family too.”

The blonde knew she was right, but had made a decision. “I’m the only one who can help right now, Peggy, let me do it! I could use as a bait, or something!”

“Never, do you hear me?” she interrupted. “Even despite your… superhuman strength!”

            The policewoman’s phone rang, cutting short through the discussion. She took the call at lightning’s speed, but not without throwing one last glance at Steve. “Agent Carter, what’s new?”

After a few seconds, she stopped. “ _What_? Wait-wait- what are you telling me?”

Bucky and Steve got closer and looked questioningly at each other. Peggy hung up and resisted the urge to throw her phone against the wall. Instead, she kicked a trash can, swearing under her breath and attracting concerned glances. Eventually, she turned around to face the two men, and spoke hopelessly before leaving.

“There has been another kidnapping, this same night.”

***

 

            Schmidt approached Hammer. He was carrying an inert body upon his shoulder, his arms clawing a thin waist; her head was falling down, black hair loose. The “employee” was leaning against his car when he saw the man drawing closer, and lost his lackadaisical stance right away, glancing at the body. Schmidt didn’t have to say a word.

“I short-circuited the cameras around her house, and connected them into another zone, so they didn’t notice anything,” he hastened to speak. “It will slow them down… I think. Plus they look busy with what happened,” he concluded, unsure.

Schmidt was beside himself. Hammer noticed with dread that he was wounded; a slight bruise started to appear on the left side of his face. That meant that he had faced _him_.

Indeed, the masked abductor wasn’t up to that neighborhood by accident, or by coincidence. He had heard of another man’s superhuman strength, thanks to his multiple relations. Yet there’s only room for one superhuman, and it was him. He was the chosen one. And more than anything, he needed to perform the play of his life, to prove his worth.

“From this very moment,” he rumbled in a breath, “you will help me. Get the other girls.”

Hammer’s face fell. “I have done so much for you until now… The video surveillance equipment… The mics at the police station… and I parked my car over the fucking hatch to your creepy basement! Do you realize how much this costs me? I faced the police, you know?!”

“I faced them too. And we’re well,” Schmidt retorted. “Hammer, I genuinely appreciate your involvement in my noble cause, and I am grateful. But… hasn’t your wife’s condition gotten worse? And her credentials… didn’t they expire?”

Hammer remained silent, looking down. The abductor continued, “You are perfectly aware that I can provide you medication. Actually, I can provide you whatever I want. So, keep that in mind when you will accomplish your task, without getting caught, obviously.”

And the conversation stopped there.

***

 

            She opened her eyes and looked at the blank ceiling. Hospitals had always been lacking charm, but this one was particularly annoying. Pale. Insipid. Like her hands, she thought while looking at them, raising her arms up. Wanda let her eyes wander on the drip embedded in her skin. On a more positive note, sunrays were shining through the windows of her room. But the image of the masked man still haunted her, especially when the night fell.

A medic entered the room; he was like her, pale-skinned, even though it wasn’t her natural state. But he appeared to be like that even hale and hearty. He had very clear eyes, an aquiline nose and sharp cheekbones, and walked slowly, almost floating. His presence appeased the girl right away, even though it was the first time in her life she met him. His white coat suited him.

“Madam Maximoff?” he pronounced with a voice as gentle as his gestures. “I am the one who will be taking care of you today and tomorrow.”

Wanda nodded and tried to straighten in her bed, but she was still weak, even recovering. Her hand didn’t possess enough strength to grasp the bar around her mattress. The nurse rushed towards her somehow softly, and caught her arm before she hurt herself.

“You shouldn’t move, your drip may move as well. And that is not what we want, isn’t it?” he chuckled. “You are extremely brave, and very strong. I don’t know many people who would have handled this as well as you did.”

The dark-haired girl shook her head. “I fell and went unconscious. Peggy and Steve saved me, I’m not that strong.”

The man looked at her while taking care of her drip and other vital-signs. “I wasn’t referring to your physical strength, which I know nothing about. I know however that you are emotionally and mentally strong.”

His touch was as gentle as his words, manipulating Wanda’s hands and arms with extreme care and precaution. “Well, I still have nightmares about that… creature,” she spit.

“Who could blame you? You went through a trauma, Madam Maximoff.”

Wanda smiled in turn, closing her eyes. “Don’t call me like that, I feel like I’m old. I’m Wanda.”

“I know, it is written on your hospital bracelet,” he jested. The girl laughed at this unexpected jibe.

“Okay then, but I won’t call you Mister the nurse,” she chirped. The man sighed in sweet surrender. “I assure you, it is weird.”

“Come on, tell me anyway, my life couldn’t get weirder at this point,” the dark-haired girl said. “And no name is ever weird. It’s just that we’re not accustomed to other cultures.”

“Everyone calls me Vision.”

Wanda stopped for a moment, frowning but also holding back a little laugh. “ _Vision_? Because, like, you can read minds?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve been told that I am quite the empath around here,” he almost snorted. “But you can also assume than I am a mind-reader.”

The girl was all smiles again, and gladly added, “ Then, _Viz’_ , what am I thinking?”

Vision kept silent for a second, a little smile looming on his face. He checked Wanda’s head by sliding his hand behind her neck, but maintaining a professional distance; yet this gesture surprised the girl, who looked sideways to hide her flushed cheeks.

“I would say that you are thinking of our next meeting,” he hummed.

 

After he left, Wanda kept on smiling, arousing Natasha’s curiosity.

***

            Nakia welcomed Peggy back at the police station. Her slim but athletic silhouette was brought out by her black leather jacket and dark pants. The brown-haired policewoman wore a huge bandage on her temple, going down the cheek; her locks, for practical reasons, were tied up in a messy ponytail. She was destroyed by her precedent failure, and by what she had recently learned.

“Peggy, are you alright?” Nakia wondered, genuinely worried. “I know I ask a lot to my agents, but I’m actually concerned about your health.”

Peggy, who was then proceeding to greet her by a simple nod to rush to her office, stopped at her level to talk. “I’m fine. I took a heavy blow on the head, it’s my fault, I should have seen it coming. But now, the priority is the abductor.”

“Don’t make this a personal revenge, Carter. For the first time in my life I fear your commitment to a case,” the black woman advised. “We’re gonna catch this asshole, but together. No more night raids by yourself, it’s far too dangerous.”

Peggy felt the need to talk about what she had learned in this tough confrontation. “Nakia, the abductor is Schmidt. Please, believe me, I heard his voice, and he called me by my name. You can trust me about this.”

“You’re telling me you recognized the masked man with his voice? And he called you _Carter_?”

“Precisely,” the fiery policewoman contended. “Just, send someone else at his yard, but I assure you-“

“Peggy, while you were absent, I pleaded your case,” Nakia interrupted her. “You were this close of losing your badge, if you know what I mean. Hopefully you’re a good agent and everyone remembers your past successes. But your radical methods are not to the taste of the whole department.”

The brunette opened her mouth, and closed it, speechless. She felt culpable of putting her superior in such a situation; furthermore, it is true that she acted quite recklessly those last weeks. But there was another implicit in her words.

“We’re not allowed to go to his workplace from now on,” the black woman sighed. Peggy had seen that coming; she just didn’t think they would _actually_ prevent them from resolving a widely media-covered case by restricting their sphere of operation. And it was her fault.

“I’ll fix this,” Peggy gestured a bit blurrily in the air. “All of this, don’t worry. It’s my doing, and I’ll start with his accomplice. I’m sure Hammer is up to no good. It is too suspicious to have only one employee in such a big junkyard, and his behavior was odd in presence of police officers.”

Nakia looked down, convinced she would regret that.

“Alright. But make sure you’re not alone. Or go get you some friends who would help you.”

 

***

_At the Rush’_

 

            Natasha was pouring up three cups of hot green tea; one for herself, one for Clint, and one for Steve. They all sat down at a table, normally for customers, but since it was five in the morning, it wasn’t too crowded. A cat jumped on the chair next to Steve, as Thor the Labrador felt a bit jealous.

“He’s not allowed on the table!!!” Natasha yelled without warning, referring visibly to the cat. It was a big fluffy ginger ball of fur, and warmed the blonde’s heart, who took him in his arms.

“Since when do you have a cat… or… _cats_?” Steve asked as he kept on seeing more felines coming up. A black, an all-white, a tortoise-shell and a brown cat.

“An investor came to our shop and… he bought it to one condition: that the _Rush’_ became a cat café,” Clint explained, chuckling. “We were gonna tell you all, but with what happened…”

Natasha agreed and added, “He looked so cool. He was black with a bodyguard, and had all those super swaggy high-tech gadgets. Naturally, the cats were everything but an inconvenience, especially for the amount of money he gave us. So, long story short, our money problem is solved, even if we now have a big problem too.”

Steve didn’t know how to react; he was delighted to hear that the couple was finally free of debts. On the other hand, he was still thinking about the night and Wanda, _and_ the abductor he let go. And the identity of the investor intrigued him. Clint cheered him up in his own way, taking in his arms a particularly ugly cat, with a deformed face, two dark circles around his eyes and rough hair.

“Say hello to Rocket. Rocket, this is Steve,” he said as the cat growled furiously.

“You’d better put that thing down before you end up one-eyed,” Natasha advised. “For the record, I did not choose this one. He’ll scare the clients away.”

Steve stifled a laugh, shaking. “Oh my God, he looks like an angry racoon.”

“He is _my_ angry racoon and I forbid you both to kick him out,” Clint defended. “You don’t know what real love is anyway.”

The red-head mimed to break his neck. “What am I then, your fucking pet? You wanna marry that stupid raccoon?”

“I _never_ thought you’d get jealous over the Procyon mammal.”

“What the fuck is a Procyon?”

“It’s their scientific name, Tasha. Latin and stuff.”

“ _Thank you_ , I studied Latin you dumbass. You’d better take care of that rascal or he’s out.”

“I’ll treat him like I treat you,” Clint chirped.

“Are you somehow comparing me to a _raccoon_?!”

“You have the same insufferable temper,” Clint added as he was interrupted by the beginning of a kick.

Steve got his smile back, thanks to the two “adults” who served as parents. He patted the ginger cat in his arms and Thor the Labrador. Yes, he went through a dark place, and the man still haunted him; he feared that he would be unable to defend the ones he loved. But in a way, his first encounter with the abductor led him to one conclusion: he wasn’t strong enough. He felt useless and powerless, but this was something he could fix. He remembered the time he was in Bucky’s office, finding out that Thanos’ gang had been the ones attacking them. Everyone was getting on his nerves and he needed to let it out, occasionally by helping the police. And what had Bucky said at that moment?

Yep. Steve remembered.

“ _What, you want me to train you?”_

***

 

            The blonde bodyguard followed his superior’s advice on the phone and rang the doorbell dressed in sports clothes. He was used to jogging during some weekends, and got everywhere on his bicycle; apart from that, he helped at the house and, he had to admit, laid on the couch watching stupid shows. Yes, many had told him that he was lucky to have his body, Sam to begin with. Of course, his super strength played a major role. But now he was going to get even stronger.

The brown-haired CEO welcomed him, trying to conceal his overexcitement in a laid-back attitude, but he was far too happy to play Rocky Balboa’s coach. Contrary to Steve, his father had encouraged him at an early age to practice as many activities as possible, preferably martial arts to defend himself. His father was kind of paranoid, so he wanted his kid to be able to fight back. Thus, Bucky did not possess his bodyguard’s amazing force, but he had mastered all kinds of sports by acquiring a certain technique. And that was important. They got down hidden stairs behind the living room that led to a huge training area, with sandbags, tatami mats, workout machines and tools as well as a bathroom for when you get sweaty. Just as the blonde thought he wouldn’t be more surprised by this magnificent house, he looked around amazed, twisting his neck and dropping his jaw. Bucky stood in front of him, suddenly focused, both hands raised up in his brand-new all-black tracksuit. His chocolate locks were held in a half-bun tied on the back of his head.

“Let’s get down to business, young Padawan,” he stupidly instructed, making his voice deeper.

“Aren’t you the same age as me though?”

“Shut up and focus on the training.”

“Don’t get all fired up, Mr. Coach, I just want-“

Bucky raised a finger menacingly. “ _DON’T_ interrupt me, young Padawan.” He then proceeded to turn around Steve, observing him; the blonde felt his ears heat for _no reason_. “You have a terrific raw strength, which constitutes your major asset. However, an arrow without a bow does no harm. A car without a steering wheel does not drive straight. A wedding without a best man is screwed.”

Steve frowned, getting confused about those comparisons and sensing some bullshit. “I get the idea, thanks, you don’t need-“

“ _THEREFORE_ young fellow, you need to channel this force that sometimes drives you off your target,” Bucky continued without regards. “Once you are able to control it, you’ll be stronger than anyone.” Steve nodded at the assertion, since that was the first smart sentence he heard.

“To conclude, I would like to tell you what I think about your case in one famous phrase: power does not consist in striking hard or often, but precisely,” the CEO displayed his general culture, making Steve feel a bit dumb.

“Alright, can we just skip to the part where I fight like Bruce Willis?”

 

 

 

            “See that sandbag? It’s weighing 50 kilos,” Bucky indicated a red elongated form. “I want you to punch it the way you would punch me. So, softly, in case you didn’t get it.”

Steve got closer to the bag as his trainer hid behind it, holding the fabric tightly. “I’ll be right behind, to persuade you to hit like a normal person. You don’t need gloves, so go ahead,” he said.

The blonde raised both of his arms in a fighting stance, bent against his torso. He extended the hand he would use to hit, as a rehearsal, and the other remained alongside his chest. Then he hit the bag, closing his eyes in apprehension. A little muffled sound could be heard. Bucky stood aside and beamed in satisfaction, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“See!? You’re making progress already! I knew you it-“

Steve removed his fist that had literally hammered into the fabric of the bag, causing an avalanche of sand. He unsuccessfully tried to gather the sand and put it back in the bag, almost crying a myriad of “ _I’m so sorry_ ”s. Bucky was horrified.

“So that’s how you would punch me?”

 

 

 

            They tried another method: judo wrestle moves and other interesting movements. They were both standing on the tatami mat, as Bucky once again feared for his life. “So, may I remind you, my wrist is still weak, and I’m your friend. In any case, if my theory is proven, I’ll be able to defeat you momentarily with my skills.”

Steve agreed but was somehow curious. “So my strength would be useless confronted with your talents?” he asked with a hint of irony.

“Don’t overreact, I’m just saying I’ll slow you down since you have no basic skills in martial arts.”

The blonde’s pride took a little blow; so he purposely moved forward to begin the training. “Try to punch me,” Bucky said.

Steve threw a moderately quick punch at his boss. The brunette then moved so fast that the blonde had trouble understanding what was happening to him; he deflected the punch effortlessly, swirling his arm around Steve’s and locking it under his shoulder. During the same movement, he had taken a step forward to position his leg so that his own knee would match the shape of the blonde’s leg. He exerted a pressure that threw the other off his balance and fell to the ground. His other hand had grasped his shirt to maintain him once he was lying down, defeated. Steve was out of breath in astonishment; everything had been so smooth and fast that he had done nothing. He remained on the mat, eyes wide open, as Bucky was still firmly gripping his shirt, in a position of superiority.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about,” the CEO said, grinning.

Steve’s heart was beating way too fast; may it be because of the shock, the knockout or the physical proximity. He seemed to be gaping for air. But unfortunately for the _trainer_ , he was also a quick learner. The blonde put aside his palpitations to slide his leg who was still free beside his adversary’s torso and pushed hard, making him fall on his side brutally. He then mirrored Bucky’s pose by jumping on top of him and maintaining to the ground. “Like that?” he giggled breathlessly, too glad to take advantage of his supposedly “coach” with many skills.

He also noted that such a position was rather… equivocal. Especially given their feelings about each other. Steve jerked backwards as if he had been badly burned.

_Feelings? What feelings?! This is barely a physical training in order to gain technique. Purely, strictly professional. Strictly…_

He glanced at Bucky who was recovering from this unexpected but well-done attack, leaning on his elbows. He seemed as surprised and destabilized as him, one of his chocolate locks falling on his greyish eyes. “That… that’s exactly what I was… talking about,” he articulated. “You took me off-guard actually!” he laughed.

Steve didn’t know what to do. So he smiled along and pretended nothing happened. “Yeah, erm, I improvised… Thought you’d like it.”

 

_NO!!! Don’t say that!!! It’s even worse! Why are you the way you are?!_

“Okay then, I guess we can try another movement,” Bucky said. He proceeded to explain what he was going to teach his “young Padawan”, but things felt different. When he grasped once again the blonde’s wrist, and pulled him closer to immobilize him, he felt that overwhelming warmth spreading in his body, the same when he came home after taking a pellet in the arm. He glanced at the baby blue eyes in front of him, as lost and confused, and detailed the man’s gentle features, though he had seen them a hundred times. But he still liked them so much.

One hour later, as they trained next to the sandbags, Steve managed not to pierce the bag when he hit it. The general euphoria that followed allowed the two men to escape, for a few minutes, the odd things they felt during this impromptu meeting. And it was not going to get better with time.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WandaVision is happening...   
> Yes, I transformed Rocket into a cat, I have no shame; I'll eventually write an Avengers zoo story if I keep it that way... As for the quote Bucky was referring to during the """"""training scene""""", you can look it up on the internet, it's attributed to a French author, Honoré de Balzac. I felt the need to boast about (1) thing I knew. Finally, the main relationship is evolving... for better and for worse.... so much suspense...  
> I'll stop here by thanking you all once again, it means a lot to me (all those adorable comments and kudos!)


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

_The Barnes mansion_

 

            Bucky entered a sumptuously decorated room; the living room in which his father spent entire nights watching crappy shows on TV. Since they had moved in this gigantic house, the man had always hated the overabundance of furniture, golden lights and expensive carpets that were pure displays of wealth, as if his father was craving to show his more-than-comfortable situation. This somehow explained his taste for minimalism and refined decoration. But more than anything, Bucky hated this house because after the death of his mother, everyone in his family started to magically hang out with his father; the woman’s passing meant that the closest people likely to get the inheritance were now down to one.

Bucky.

Some of those vultures, including Pierce, dedicated their life with an unexpected vigor to ousting the young man – and rightful _heir_ – out of the testament. But the man had never imagined that they’d actually employ violence to get what they wanted, until recently. Well, _one man_ did that.

Pierce was pacing in said room, like a lion in a golden cage. His name was painfully accurate given the icy and, well, _piercing_ expression he bore on his face. Though it was no longer a face radiating condescension and disdain, but distorted by anguish and dread. When his nephew appeared in the frame, his wrist still enclosed in a splint, he turned around abruptly and almost ran towards him.

“James, I sincerely hope that by no chance you’ve made friends with thugs that destroyed everything I own,” he seethed, trying to conceal the fact that he was beside himself. Bucky stopped his pacing with a raised hand, provoking surprise from his interlocutor. He was as furious as him, but he had time digesting the info and was now as sharp and as cutting as a knife, spitting each word like a deadly poison.

“Please don’t associate the word “sincerely” with your person, it’s insulting to actual sincere people,” the brunette shot. “Also, it’s funny you mention thugs because I think you’re the one who mingled with them,” he chuckled almost lifelessly. Pierce looked at him intensely, not sure whether he should strangle him or crumble on the ground; but he had more composure than what he gave off. He feigned innocence and misunderstanding.

“You… really think I am somehow responsible for a thing that happened to you?”

Bucky couldn’t hold it in longer. With his abled arm, he sent a slap in the face of his uncle that resonated in the room. The older man’s body bent under the hit, his eyes growing as wide as saucers.

“From now on, I’ll be the one to fucking talk, you asshole,” Bucky spit, his eyes throwing daggers. “We’ve got everything on you. I know you used Thanos’ gang to attack me at night. We got proof and there’s nothing you can do. I also have evidence for the fact that you hired a fucking _hitman_ to shoot at me from the roof. So let me tell you one thing,” he breathed to regain poise, physically affected by his anger. Pierce was standing still, in the same posture as when he had been hit, and did not glance at his nephew. “I wanted dad to believe that he had a united family, even though it’s pure bullshit. I don’t agree with him on lots of things, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be spared in his old age. And I still believe that. Which is why I’m not gonna sue you and tell him what you did. He’s not even aware of what happened to me.”

Those last sentences seemed to make Pierce sit up, provoking a respond. He wore the same bewildered look in his eyes, but now expressing utter disbelief. “You… didn’t say anything?”

Bucky shook the hand that hit his uncle earlier. “No. Because I care about my dad, who would be destroyed by the fact that his own brother tried to kill his son.”

“Not _kill_ -“

“If I didn’t respect women and my grandmother, I would call you a son of a bitch,” the brunette interrupted. “Now you’d better disappear for a year or two and not prowl around this house, or you’ll have bigger problems. I won’t hesitate to resort to the same means you used to get rid of me.”

***

_Back at the office like a normal day_

 

            Steve and Bucky were in the CEO’s office, as usual. Except that many things had happened during a very short time span. The blonde was staring at the TV on the white wall, the screen entirely black, displaying no visual threat or terrifying skull. The brunette was slumped in his armchair, and the sparse noise of computer clicking could be heard in the room. Scott was also there, actually _working_ , delivering files and taking back others, and scheduling appointments.

“So, Mr. Barnes, you have a meeting with Mrs. Potts at 2 PM to discuss-“

“I can’t, sorry, I have to train my bodyguard,” he answered nonchalantly, as Steve turned around to choke on his saliva. He was still so easily unsettled by his boss. Scott frowned and moved back his head in skepticism.

“Pardon me, what?”

“Steve is being trained by the greatest wrestler on earth to fight evil forces.”

“What is that on your wrist again?”

“A splint.”

“Okay, so you’re aware of it,” Scott sighed. “I may be wrong, but _HE IS_ the one supposed to be the wrestler or… anything. Why are you _training_ him? You’re literally teaching him his _job_!”

Steve barged in the conversation, ashamed that his secret was unveiled. He was already bad enough at bodyguarding, Bucky didn’t need to add to the pile. “He’s right, this is stupid!”

“ _STUPID_?! You’re the one who asked me that!” the brunette defended himself like a child.

“You _DID_?!” the secretary gasped. “What are you, _incompetent_?!”

Bucky raised a finger. “Hey, why are you insulting him?”

Scott managed not to crawl towards the couch to lie down a minute, his head into his hands. “Alright alright alright, you both are driving me crazy. Boss, you’re defending a man who his supposed to do his job and you’re training him because he _asked_ you to? What is going on? What are you trying to do, Mr. Barnes? You don’t even do your daily job properly and now you’re running away from meetings because you think you’re good at boxing? If you were that good, you’d be a boxing teacher, and you’d teach everyone and not just Mr. Rogers and I’m starting to think that this is just a pretext to run away from your responsibilities with a good-looking man- ”

He was interrupted by the CEO who literally put his hand on his mouth. Steve was shocked. He and Bucky had been charged with the whole truckload. Scott had cut them a little slack, apparently letting out an old-established frustration. Which was, given the boss he had to handle, a little understandable.

Bucky was as shaken as the blonde, chuckling in embarrassment. “Scott, I didn’t know you held me in such low esteem.”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEA-“

“I won’t fire you, if that’s what is on your mind.”

“Oh, okay. It’s not that I don’t like you, but you always have such odd ideas, all the time, and I’m actually holding together this firm of yours, and I’m stressed out and Cassie has her baby teeth coming out-“

The CEO took Scott’s head between his hands as if he was calming a deep-in-syncope dog. The other’s body was almost shaking. “Scott, I’ll give you a week off, okay?”

“But the firm-“

“I have hired someone else who’ll take care of your work, she’s very talented, don’t worry,” Bucky tried to anticipate the secretary’s words, afraid of another monologue. “So please don’t say another sentence like the one before,” he pleaded. He was especially embarrassed of the last part.

“O-Okay,” mumbled the secretary softly.

Bucky patted his shoulder tenderly, and pushed him towards the exit, coaxing him into giving up his appointment. The poor man was so tense he had been dissing people without realizing it. Once his silhouette outside the frame, Bucky closed the glass door and leaned against it, head tilted in exhaustion.

“He’s not wrong you know,” Steve let out almost in a breath. “It’s suspicious.”

The brunette used the closed door to push himself in the center of the room. “What is?” he asked while feigning candor.

“Us training while we should be at… work…,” the blonde said. As he was articulating the words, he realized how badly-phrased his sentence was. It… implied things. Not that he thought about those things! But some people could… misinterpret a quite obvious relationship.

“We’re barely training,” Bucky grinned. “And it’s for the greater good, isn’t it?”

The atmosphere became tense again. “Speaking of which, how are we gonna act?” the blonde asked. “We don’t know where he’s hiding, his name, nor his face… And I’m still not strong enough to face him.”

“First of all, that’s not true, you’re a quick learner and you have an amazing teacher,” the CEO blurted. “And second of all, we know someone who could help us and come up with a plan. And that would prevent us from acting illegally, even though it’s exciting.”

Steve rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “I don’t know in what I’ve gotten myself into, but I’ll try to do my best.”

Bucky moved around, and turned off the computer screen. He then turned to Steve, very serious, his eyes intensely staring at the blonde’s. “You’re the only one able to do this. But yet again, if you don’t want to, you have every right to leave it to the professionals. I don’t want you to…”

There was a silence. Steve tilted up his head to glance at the brunette. “To what?”

Bucky was not that close, yet he almost felt the comfortable warmth radiating from his interlocutor’s frame. He did not know what to say, mumbling a few words. “Well, y’know, even though you’re quite tough and everything, you’re still human, and.. you can get hurt. So it’d be bad if you… got hurt.”

Steve cracked a bright smile, his heart fluttering a little. “Thanks for worrying about me, but I’ll make sure the abductor ends up in jail. Maybe with a few bruises, who knows,” he chuckled. “And if I can stop him, then it doesn’t matter how bad I’m wounded.”

The CEO rolled his eyes. “You’re so fucking stubborn! Like, okay, I push you to do that, but you go to the extreme every time! Just… catch him without ending up in the hospital,” he muttered, unable to bear the sappiness of his speech. Steve was still smiling, and gave his first order.

“Let’s come up with a plan then. Does the _Rush’_ sound like a good place to you?”

“It’s the best actually.”

***

 

            Natasha and Clint had never seen that many acquaintances in their coffee shop: Steve and Bucky were there, Wanda was back from the hospital sitting next to Sam, Peggy had just arrived, accompanied by Maria and Okoye, and they expected their investor T’Challa minute to minute. A few tables had been gathered together so that everyone could have exchanges, forming a big assembly in the center of the closed shop. It was a bit messy, so Natasha yelled a little.

“Listen up! We need to appoint a chairman for this meeting, or else it’ll be chaos,” she advised. “I vote for Steve, he speaks well and knows a lot about the situation.”

Many hands were raised up, but not all of them. Okoye interrupted the discussion. “I’m sorry, but I think first lieutenant Peggy Carter actually knows a bit more,” she said as Maria nodded. Peggy didn’t know what to say.

“I agree with you comrade,” the red-head resorted, “but this problem is broader than the sole police station. The attacker has been in touch with people in this neighborhood, and Mr. Barnes here as well. You’ll need plenty of information of all sorts.”

“Alright, then let there be two chairmen,” Peggy cut in. “Steve and I will speak alternately. I have info he doesn’t have, and vice-versa.”

Sam was kind of fed up with the rigid formality of this dumb meeting. “Hey, y’all, this is not a security council. The issue is pretty serious, but it doesn’t mean we have to act like politicians,” he jested. “Just, go straight to the point.”

Bucky didn’t agree with Sam on many things, but his straight-forwardness was useful. Steve nodded and spoke up after making eye contact with Peggy. “Okay, we need to catch the abductor. Nobody alone can do that, but if we act in togetherness, we’ll succeed,” the blonde said while trying to sound as confident as possible.

“You seem pretty optimistic,” Okoye said. She was the most skeptic of them all. “What makes you think you can catch him?”

Peggy glared at her colleague. There were still people in this room who knew nothing about Steve’s super strength, and he _really_ didn’t want anyone else to know. Bucky cut in as the policewoman was making up something.

“I trained Steve these few days, and he’s good,” the brunette flatly confirmed. “He’s my bodyguard, in case Peggy didn’t tell you that.”

“ _You_ train the person supposed to guard you?” Okoye wondered, incredulous.

“Only the low blows.”

“Listen you two, we need to come up with a plan, not to discourse on a bodyguard’s duty,” Sam interrupted.

“Sam’s right,” Peggy added. “Steve is the man fit for the job. We need to help him get to the culprit and ease his burden by freeing the hostages.”

Bucky chuckled. _He sure is fit. For the job._

The blonde naturally took the lead and laid out his point of view. “Since you are the police, you need to secure the perimeter and rescue the hostages. To this day, how many girls have disappeared?”

“Three,” Maria sighed. Seeing everyone’s shocked expressions, she explained. “He changed his pattern. He kidnapped in broad daylight a girl of the same age, but witnesses described him differently.”

Peggy elaborated. “We believe he’s helped by his accomplice, who’s probably being blackmailed given his situation. All in all, the girls and I will take care of the hostages, who are most certainly three. I’m a hundred percent positive that they’re in his bloody junkyard, but they must be in some kind of basement.”

“But since he mustn’t escape, it’d be good if the bodyguard contained him in said basement, or at least in the junkyard. And we’d need a support team in the area in case he gets out,” Okoye declared. “Problem is, Nakia refuses to give us more manpower, because…”

The black woman glanced at Peggy, who knew very well what she was referring to. Her previous blunder. Bucky raised his hand to talk like a pupil in a classroom.

“I can help with that. I know a dude in the police who owes me, and otherwise my firm currently has ties with a tech connoisseur who could help with that.”

Peggy almost slammed the table by getting up in shock. “What?! A _dude_ that owes you?”

“It’s a long story, due to my good birth.”

“He should be fired, that’s corruption!” the fiery woman exclaimed, outraged. Okoye was astonished too, but a detail had held her attention, just like Clint and Natasha. The red-head and the policewoman spoke at the same time.

“What kind of tech?”

“Tech connoisseur?”

They all looked at each other. The black woman spoke first after Natasha made a head sign. “If it is cutting-edge technology, I may know the guy,” she declared on a grin. Natasha flapped her hands in the air, eyes wide, gesturing like a crazy cat-lady.

“Is he called T’Challa, quite good-looking, with a bodyguard, and a shark tooth necklace?!” she sputtered. Okoye got up and pointed at her.

“ _YEAH_ , that’s the guy!!! You know him?!”

“He invested in our shop! That’s why it has become a cat café!”

“He’s _in cahoots_ with our boss!!!”

The people outside this dynamic exchange, i.e. everyone else in the room, followed the two women waving hands at each other. Steve looked at Bucky, completely lost, but also amused. His boss shrugged, smiling; the world was littler than what they thought. Just as everyone was taking part in the conversation, nearly screaming and destroying the remaining ounce of formality they had, the infamous investor and tech connoisseur rang the bell and pushed the door. He still wore that black suit, in a casual way, with golden embroideries on the jacket.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and other,” he greeted while taking a look at the cats. “Okoye, I truly hope you didn’t say anything embarrassing about me.”

“Why are you here again?” Sam asked out loud, with his usual laid-back attitude, bordering on provocation.

“I’m here to help you with my financial means. I know everything.”

“How come you know everything while we’re still settling a plan?” Wanda spoke for the first time, her brain hardly processing the info. Okoye, who was sitting next to her, elbowed her softly, widely grinning. “He’s trying to reconquer the love of his life by helping us.”

Peggy frowned. “You… and Nakia…?”

T’Challa was standing still to feign self-control, but he was losing it. He wore a plastered smile on his face. “Okoye, you’re mistaken. I am not that egoistic.”

“Every time you see her, you freeze.”

Natasha, laughing her ass off and gaining information about her investor for some potential blackmail, asked the policewoman to repeat. “He _freezes_?”

“Like an antelope in headlights.”

“ _Okoye_ ,” T’Challa gasped. “Anyway, I will provide you workforce around the building and useful gadgets. They will belong to my friend here, Mr. Barnes.” Bucky tilted his head when he heard his name.

“Okay then, I’ll use them.”

Peggy slammed the table again, but intentionally. “Sir, you’re not supposed to know that! Okoye, what did you tell him?!”

“What, he just happens to know,” she defended herself. “It’s not as if your little friend Steve knew nothing about the case.” Steve chuckled in acknowledgment, whereas the CEO looked at Peggy. The fiery policewoman gave up. “Okay, fine. Thank you for helping us. Thus, Steve, Barnes, me and other voluntary agents will come down the basement, which I suspect is next to the culprit’s house. We will free the hostages and one of us will get them out safely. The remaining will help Steve. T’Challa’s men will prevent any escaping by standing outside.”

Bucky raised his hand again, relaxing the rather tense atmosphere. Wanda was indeed reminded very painful memories, comforted by Sam rubbing her shoulder. “I have another question.”

“What’s wrong?” Peggy asked, intrigued.

“This isn’t a secret to Steve, but I’ve been mugged and harassed repeatedly these last weeks,” he let out with a reminiscence of pain. “Turns out the harasser had hired a gang, Thanos’ gang, to do that. I discovered his identity and threatened him, but the thugs may… try to slow us in our task and eventually beat us up.”

Steve looked down, still affected by the event. Peggy had reacted right away when she heard the gang’s name, like her colleagues. “You think they could be a problem during the mission?”

“Who knows what they can do for money…”

Natasha spoke up, gripping her cup of tea. Her greenish eyes expressed focus and commitment. “Leave them to me.”

Everyone stared at the red-head, a bit scared and mostly intrigued. Maria voiced what everyone was thinking. “Leave… them… to you?”

“Yeah.”

Clint explained. “Don’t… ask. Don’t worry, she will simply slow them down!” he fake-laughed. “Now you need to decide when to act.”

They brushed off this unexpected response to agree with Clint. Steve had the last word. “I want to train again a little before facing him, but we need to be quick because of the hostages. Peggy, what do you suggest?”

“The day after tomorrow seems like a good deal to me. And you can still back out, nothing binds you to this operation,” she almost pleaded. She desperately needed Steve’s help in this, but him getting hurt was the last thing she wanted. She resisted the urge to touch his shoulder.

“The day after tomorrow then. No backing out, and we’ll catch this bastard.”

***

 

_In a car two days later_

 

            Hammer was fidgeting on his steering wheel, and that impacted his driving. The car was as derelict as what served as his home, a ridiculously small apartment outside the town. His life was pretty derelict too, when he thought about it. On one hand, he was glad he met Schmidt, who was powerful enough to provide him money for his wife, even he she hated him and lived with him by convenience. It also enabled him to buy himself some good liquor. But on the other hand, the guy was rotten. To the core. Hammer didn’t mingle with things that didn’t involve him, like other people’s morals, but Schmidt didn’t do what he was doing for money, bizarre fame or anything else. It was pure sadism, dipped in good old eugenics. Many times had he mentioned a sort of fascination for people with a particular physique, his abhorrence for those without poise, without what he called “refinement”, which actually was really just white skin. He was racist, and his abductions served some kind of ideology. He even had stolen CCTV equipment after being licensed to muddy the waters and lose the cops. It was horrible. Even Hammer himself had helped him abduct a girl, for his weird-ass play, that he wanted to create at any cost. He was a monster as well. But, hey, life was too hard, and everyone had given up on him. It was a sort of revenge. Hammer felt powerful, but torn inside. He parked the car outside the junkyard, as the moon was already rising, plunging him and the city in a deep blue night. Schmidt was down in the basement, sorting things out. He got out of the car.

The clanging of an armed gun echoed in his ears and made him turn around, as he found a Glock 39 stuck to his forehead. A bald black woman in a leather jacket, with scarily peaceful eyes, exerted a pressure with the gun on Hammer’s head, terrified. He didn’t even speak.

“I’m Ayo. You will tell me where the man is.”

 

***

 

Steve, Bucky, Peggy along with Okoye and Maria followed what Ayo had told them. Hammer had broken and gave away Schmidt’s location. Moving slowly, they tried to make as little noise as possible as they made their way to the basement. Peggy was leading, accustomed to operations like those; but Steve somehow wanted to be hit first in case of an unhappy encounter. Bucky was a bit lagging behind, not going in because he wanted to, but because he had been dragged into this mess, and it was a way of doing a good thing. He was taking action instead of standing still, as Steve had told him.

They entered a dark and gloomy underground building, probably built for a previous factory: the hatch they opened lead to stone stairs covered by moss. The basement released an unsettling smell of humidity and stale air, with whiffs of metal and cold rock. The team didn’t take any flashlights to be as discreet as possible. In their silence, they only heard the muffled scream of a woman below. Steve looked down, closing his eyes, trying to regain composure as he focused on his sole task. Bucky saw that, and felt as bad.

Maria pointed to the area below them, which appeared to be the center of Schmidt’s _activity_ ; the stairs they were on led up to an overhead walkway, that overlooked the central room. There was only one way to face the abductor, and it wasn’t the sneakiest one. The main stairs in metal, an extension of the walkway, got down the room where they caught a glimpse of cells and grim tools. They all looked at each other, nodding and exchanging glances to execute their plan.

Bucky pressed the button of a little device hidden in his sleeve, that provoked a general shutdown of cameras in the building and jiggled the lights. He also armed a gun that had been given to him, and went down the stairs. Of course, Schmidt noticed his presence halfway through the road to the room. He was gathering clothing when he turned around violently, his mask off. The flickering lights offered a chilling image.

            Schmidt exposed a red skin, as red as blood; it was as if he had been skinned alive, his flesh bare. He looked like a skull, with dark eyes circled by black veins, and a heinous bony mouth. The girls imprisoned behind metal bars in his back screamed in terror.

“ _What_ … are you doing here?” the abductor asked, gritting his teeth. It was almost inaudible, like a breath, penetrated by rage.

Maybe it was fear, maybe it wasn’t; in any case, Bucky reacted abnormally. Abnormally _calmly_.

“Wow, you better put that mask back on,” he retorted. “You’re scaring those young women.”

The said women were desperately yelling for help, gripping the metal bars of their cells, covered by bruises, their traits distorted by dread. Bucky tried to look away, for the sake of the plan, but it wasn’t easy at all.

“You dare attempt at humor?” the monster articulated. “It is a first for me. Every simpleton I’ve encountered took things so seriously,” he chuckled till through gritted teeth. “What are you going to do? Stop me?”

Bucky didn’t want to hurt the hostages, so he didn’t use his firearm. Instead, he threw another gadget on the ground that made a metallic sound and stuck to the floor, like a magnet. As Schmidt backed off but sure of his superiority, the object emitted a powerful force-field targeting the red skull. The monster found himself irretrievably attracted to the gadget, falling on the ground and crawling against his will towards the tech device. It slowed him down, but didn’t weaken him. Bucky still threw a dig, true to himself.

“I’m not gonna stop you, but he will.”

As Schmidt managed to pull out of the force-field, stronger than the device, Steve jumped out of the aerial walkway to land on the ground, as graceful as a dancer. The red skull got back on its feet, his skinned face twisted by wrath. Steve had time to strike a heavy blow with his fist on his head. The abductor fell again under the strength of the knock. Peggy and her agents got down as fast as lightning, using a brand-new equipment to open the locked doors of the cells and free the girls. Bucky made sure that Red Skull was only preoccupied by Steve, so that the girls were safe.

The two fighters moved across the room, as Steve pushed the monster towards the back wall. Okoye freed a first hostage, the ginger girl, who had trouble walking since she was dreadfully meagre and weakened. Maria did the same with the second girl, a brunette with pale skin, livid because of fear. But Steve was struggling with Schmidt, who grasped his collar to throw him against the metal bars of one cell, preventing the last hostage to get free. His body made a loud thumping noise, as the girl fell down at the back of her prison. Peggy yelled something in this chaos.

“Take the girls out, I’m on the last one!”

Maria and Okoye sprinted across the room to take the same stairs that led outside. As Steve was straightening and recovering from the blow, Red Skull ran towards them. The policewomen could not do much with hostages in their arms; thus Bucky ran in front of them to use one last device lent by T’Challa. He blocked the abductor with a metallic stick that sent a throb in his head, destined to cause seizure. Like the previous times, it slowed him down without defeating him. But it was enough so that the agents and the two girls got out.

Bucky blocked a blow that still sent him on the ground; he practically felt his brain move inside cranial cavity. A warm liquid ran down his forehead and his cheek; it tainted the cold floor with carmine. The brunette was severely injured, but not yet unconscious; hearing Steve’s distant voice, he racked the gun in his hand and shot as he saw a tall and monstrous silhouette bend on him.

Schmidt took the bullet in his shoulder. It was like a scratch to him; but Bucky had distracted him.

Steve swooped in on Red Skull to kick him in the back. The man was projected but did not fall down; he had learned the lesson. The two super-humans exchanged blows at lightning’s speed, each fighting with an unknown fury, conform to their ideals. The blonde took many hits, visibly faltering. Peggy was still struggling to open the last door cell, clinging onto the hope of getting out of this hell altogether. But the bars were padlocked, as if this last girl was more important; maybe she was the main role in his twisted play. In any case, the situation was pointing south. The remaining policewoman glanced at Steve, still fighting, but slowly losing. She murmured a few reassuring words to the girl with a hastening voice, even if she didn’t believe any of them, and aimed her gun at the two, her mouth ajar and her palms sweaty. She breathed, calmed her beating heart and when Steve turned around, she shot Schmidt in the leg. The red skull barely collapsed, groaning in pain but still standing. He turned his head towards the woman, and she felt his wrath radiating from his rotten body. Peggy embodied everything that monster abhorred: a woman, daring, bigmouthed and bold. He already hated her with a burning and yet cold rage, and what she did made him loose his last ounce of cool.

            Schmidt rushed towards Peggy, and hit her in the stomach with even more strength than when he fought Steve. She whimpered in pain, crumbling on the ground, holding with her arm the injured spot on her body. She gasped for air and her eyes saw blurry.

Steve shouted, enraged, and despite exhaustion, terror and pain, he threw himself on Red Skull before he got to Peggy. He kicked the weakened leg, and deepened the bullet into the ref flesh. For the first time, Schmidt showed real signs of vulnerability, groaning and refraining a pained scream. His empty black eyes stared at the blonde, who had the nerve to try to defeat him. He headbutted Steve.

 

The fight kept on going, but Peggy was down, and Maria along with Okoye were outside. Calling backup would take to long, they needed to act quickly and to save the last hostage. Emerging from his half-faintness, Bucky decided to do something. As Steve was still struggling to keep Red Skull away from them both, he staggered towards the last cell where Peggy had been attacked. He checked her pulse, and took out another device. It projected a burning laser that melted the lock, proceeding to free the girl that was leaning on the backwall of her cell.

Steve took another blow behind the knee, half-kneeling. Schmidt struck the blonde man on the head, making him lose his balance. He wanted to keep the last girl more than killing his rival. He lingeringly  took out a knife of an odd purple color out of a hiding place in the basement, and clutched it as if his life depended on it. Bucky was still slicing open the door, or at least trying to; he heard slow steps behind him. The girl was still crouching on the ground in the cell, crying her heart out, her golden locks stuck on her bruised skin by sweat and tears. She cried out something to warn Bucky.

            Red Skull raised the knife to inflict a deep cut on the arm that was trying to destroy the lock. The purple blade, soaked in some kind of unidentified liquid, sliced open the man’s flesh, who shouted in pain. Peggy watched the scene, still lying on the ground, powerless, and barely making a “no” sound. Steve turned his head as he was laying on the ground as well, head jerked backwards, blood gushing down his temple. He couldn’t even scream to try to stop the criminal. Bucky collapsed, holding his open arm, his hand soaked in his own blood. Red Skull punched his hand away, and snatched his hurt arm to put it between the recently opened cell door and the stone wall, in a new interstice.

“You like that door that much, huh?” the monster breathed erratically, taking pleasure in seeing the brunette suffer his guts out. Holding still Bucky’s paralyzed arm, he slammed the metal door against it, causing a breaking noise. The man screamed one last time before definitely falling to the ground.

“That will teach you to get involved, _scum_ ,” he grinned while fiddling with the knife, now tainted with red. “Say goodbye to your arm.”

But as he raised his head up in a sign of victory, convinced that he defeated his three enemies, he felt a sudden electric shock through his spine that immobilized him. He gasped for air, his dark twisted mouth opened in agony; his eyes, two black pools of evil, were wide open in astonishment. His crimson skin stretched at the cheeks’ level, indicating a silent scream. He looked down to see a ripped metal bar passing through his abdomen.

Steve had torn a cell bar off with his bare hands and with the strength he had left, to strike the red skull right through his torso. The monster fell on his knees, and lied down on his sides, the metallic piece still stuck inside his body. The blonde crawled towards Bucky, lying on the ground, unconscious; Steve had never seen that much blood come out of a body. He panicked, breathing with difficulty, and felt his heart pound in his throat; he ripped a piece of his shirt to make an improvised tourniquet, tightening the cloth above the scarlet wound. He repeated in some desperate litany Bucky’s name, patting his face; he then broadened his vision field, looking behind the man, to see Peggy injured. Unlike Bucky, she was conscious, but gravely wounded; she held her abdomen thoroughly. “Peggy”, he whispered, devoured by the fear of losing two people he deeply loved. As he was clutching Bucky’s body, the woman articulated a few words with difficulty.

“Save… _him_ …”

“Peggy, people are coming, we are all going to get out,” the blonde stuttered. He heard the sirens outside and steps coming down the basement. Because of the open hatch, the room was soon bathed in blue and red lights; one minute later, the three got outside, helped by T’Challa’s men and the few voluntary police agents.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the meantime, Natasha is kicking some raisin-alien ass. It sure is more of a success than Steve's operation... Nonetheless, the evil is defeated at last! Strength lies in unity after all... And the next chapter will be by far brighter than this one (lmao). I think it will be the last one, so I can conclude this story that took WAY longer than what I expected! Thank you again for the kudos and the nice things you said in the comments!


	9. The end

 

            Bucky half-opened his eyelids. A thin and faint crack of light appeared in his vision field; blinded by the yet dim lightning, he closed his eyes right away, fearing a headache. Still, his brain seemed to have been thrown under a truck, then glued back to normal, and then put in a blender; his head felt so heavy that he couldn’t move in his bed, and constant waves of pain bathed the insides of his cranium. When he finally got accustomed to the pain and the light, he slowly opened his eyes again, and took a look at his bed and his body.

The blanket was itching a little bit, and had stupid patterns all over; his bed was slightly elevated and everything in this environment seemed to be white. _Great, I’m at the hospital. At least that means I’m fine_. But something was wrong. He felt unbelievably heavy. His entire body was swallowed by the mattress, and felt different. He tried to push away the covers, still seeing blurry, but his movements didn’t correspond to what he wanted. Glancing at his left arm, he only saw his shoulder. And nothing else.

His mind already had trouble processing the events, and now he found himself without a limb. It felt so weird, and looked odd as well. He moved his shoulder, that responded correctly, but nothing below was visible. His mouth was hanging, ajar, and his eyes were staring at the white sheets that had replaced his biceps, his elbow, his forearm and his hand. There was just emptiness. Maybe it was the shock, maybe the exhaustion, or the denial, but Bucky collapsed down on his pillow and fell asleep once again.

 

Strangely enough, when he woke up again, he remembered his amputation and the fact that he had lost an arm. He was amazingly lucid given what he had to endure. But as he opened his eyes for the second time, probably at a different period, because he had no concept of time passing, something had changed. Used to see blurry, the brunette glanced this time on his right, to catch a glimpse of a blonde head resting on the mattress. A familiar silhouette was spread on the edge of the bed, asleep, his lower body sitting on a chair.

Steve.

 

Apparently, Bucky moving in the bed woke up the blonde. He lifted his head, as groggy as the brunette. His complexion was awfully pale, and his face was covered with a few bandages, hiding the gaping wounds he had received in his fight. His golden wheat-blonde hair seemed to be shining a bit less, and was ruffled, strands falling on his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth was slightly reddening, and his ocean eyes had turned to a stormy blue. But worst of all, his expression broke Bucky’s heart. There were no words to describe it; an awful vision of grief, guilt, fear and affliction. Steve only muttered a few words.

“You’re… awake,” he said in a breath.

Bucky was certainly the one in the hospital bed and the one in the worst state, but in this moment, he felt that Steve, though his shell didn’t break, was crumbling on the inside. He hated that.

“Yeah,” he spoke for the first time, with a hoarse voice. Two images flowed in his brain: his missing arm, and his bodyguard’s expression. He wanted them gone.

“How… do you feel?” the blonde articulated, looking down.

“Mh… I believe I could be better,” he mumbled. “The pellet was nicer actually.” 

Even after saying _Hi_ to death, the brunette was still screwing around and, being true to himself, showed the cocky side of his personality. Although this time, it didn’t have the expected effect, which was making Steve smile. It produced the exact opposite, reviving painful memories in the blonde’s mind and how he had been unable to protect him for the second time in a row. It was no longer about his job; it was a raw impulse that dictated him to preserve the ones he loved.

“I don’t know… how to apologize,” Steve started. “I would like you to know that you had more courage than I’d ever have. I was the one supposed to take the attacks, not you. If there was someone to hurt, it-“

He was interrupted by Bucky’s right hand on his forearm, displaying a drip. Despite the accident, his grip was firm.

“If you ever blame yourself one more time, I’ll tear off my other arm,” the brunette muttered, his deep voice emphasizing his sentence. The “funny” undertone didn’t make the seriousness of the situation go away. Steve slightly frowned, his eyes getting teary and wide open. He couldn’t believe the other joked about this.

“H… How can you…? Don’t… say… things like those,” the blonde almost spluttered, dumbfounded. Bucky’s hand was still gripping his wrist.

“We’re alive and… I guess that given the last weeks, we’re doing pretty well.”

“I… left you alone and I was uncapable of stopping him. I did not do well, at all,” the last words were tainted with tears. “The doctor said…”

Bucky had given up stopping the blonde’s self-flagellation. Reminded of his arm, he was as curious as he was affected by it. “What did he say?”

“That… _He_ broke your bones… and that the knife was dipped in some kind of toxic chemical substance. The fracture was incurable, and the substance attacked the tissues… If I remember well.”

There was a silence. Bucky took another look at his shoulder, and his missing arm. Maybe it had been the best thing to do, otherwise that cunt’s poison would have killed him. In the end… _that’s_ what he meant when he told him to say _goodbye to his arm_. The brown-haired man was devastated, but oddly enough, he did not feel defeated. Maybe it was selfish to think about this in this situation, but he felt proud to have saved someone. To have been useful. To have done something with his life. Even at the peril of his own life.

As the room remained silent, Sam knocked on the door and entered, as a doctor and as a family member. He sat on a chair he pulled from a corner. His reassuring dark eyes glanced at Bucky, his drip, and his shoulder respectively. He was the kind of person whose presence diffused warmth and color, like the sun diffuses sunlight; Steve felt better, because his guilt prevented him from saying any word. With Sam around, the atmosphere would lighten up.

“Hey, how is it going?” he asked, with a poised yet nonchalant voice, contrasting with the formality of his white gown. Steve had moved away his wrist from Bucky’s hand.

“My head is gonna explode, and my left arm is missing,” he answered. He regained seriousness all of a sudden. “Was there no other solution than amputation?”

Sam looked down, but he had seen plenty of patients shattered by this kind of operation. After all, losing a limb is losing a part of yourself, and a physical one. It’s mentally tough to endure; some got over it, some didn’t. Barnes seemed to belong to the first category.

“Maybe Steve told you, but there was a noxious organism in the compound on the knife,” the doctor announced. “A dreadful cocktail of botulinic toxin and cyanide. If the affected tissues hadn’t been separated from the whole body, it would have spread and caused death. Plus, the bones were broken at the level of the olecranon process in a comminuted fracture. That means your bones were soup, and it’s very hard to heal this kind of fracture without retorting to a prosthesis.”

Bucky nodded but was still baffled, mouth ajar. He looked at Steve, who wanted to escape his eyes, but also wished to support him with a gaze. The blonde watched him react and welcome the news.

“I expected that…,” the brunette said. “So in any case, I would have had to wear… the prosthesis.”

“That’s right. And you’re lucky your organism stopped as far as it could the cyanide. You were _this close_ to dying,” Sam added. Somehow, this sentence, as unvarnished and brutally honest it was, put things in perspective for the two. Bucky preferred a new arm than a coffin. Steve spoke for the first time.

“Will he have it soon? How do we manage the whole thing?” he asked about the new limb.

“Well, we as a hospital can’t say anything about that, we’ll see with the labs,” Sam declared. “But nowadays, they do great things with prosthetics, even if it still hurts to lose an arm.”

“It doesn’t hurt, it’s just annoying as hell and kinda sad,” Bucky attempted humor that only made him laugh. “I’ll be like… half-human or something.”

“Don’t say that, Bucky,” Steve murmured a bit dramatically. He would have to get used to the idea that his boss lost a limb, _not because of him_ , and the CEO actually seemed to get over it quicker than the blonde.

“Yeah, don’t say that, plenty of people have prosthetics today, and they live like everyone else,” Sam reassured. “Also, I think that since you’re the lucky type, you’ll have a pretty cool model.”

Bucky and Steve didn’t get it. As dramatic as ever, T’Challa entered the room slowly, with his ever-black clothes and his discreet golden jewels. He extended his hand to Sam for a handshake, and Sam high-fived him.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, unaware.

“Mister Rogers, you’ll have to be more formal with me,” T’Challa laughed. “I did not come here to be disrespected.”

“Far from me the idea, but you always show up after the storm, if I may. How could you help Bu… Mister Barnes?”

Bucky felt weird as he heard Steve call him _Mister_ Barnes; when he thought about it, he had always called him Bucky and they had never been strictly official nor professional. Meanwhile, the black man kept his legendary cool and spoke with composure.

“You know that I invested in many firms and that my own firm is specialized in cutting-edge technology. In short, we’re far better than you all in advanced technology.”

Sam mimicked T’Challa behind to mock him, muttering some _na na na_. But what the man proposed was incredibly interesting.

“You’re saying that you could provide a prosthesis for Bucky?” Steve asked.

“You know, I would have bought it anyway with my money,” the CEO interrupted.

“Perhaps, but I was quicker than you and had it made already,” the black investor asserted. Steve got up in astonishment.

“Really?!”

Ayo entered the room carrying a black box, swaggy and stylish, like everything T’Challa did since the beginning. Moving with grace and assurance, she moved a table to put the box on it. Ayo opened it under everyone’s amazed and curious eyes, revealing a stunning metallic arm, shaped like a human one, with regular striae that emphasized the robotic aspect of the device. Every detail of the human body was found in a carbon equivalent. Steve stared at the object, just like Bucky, amazed. But the brunette was something else. He literally had stars in his eyes.

“Is this… mine?”

“I think you deserve it, take it as a gift for accepting me as a shareholder in your firm,” T’Challa assured, smiling. “This is still the ‘rough’ model, that is to say that the skin isn’t done yet. We’re using an extremely rare material hard to find-“

“I don’t want the skin,” Bucky cut in. Everyone looked at him, surprised. Sam frowned, confused.

“But it’ll remain like that,” warned the investor.

“Yeah I know, but I don’t want to hide or anything. I’m not an attention whore either, and I don’t want to show everyone that I lost an arm, but I’m a fan of robotics. And this looks way too cool for me to cover it with a fake creepy skin.”

Sam looked at T’Challa, T’Challa looked at Steve, and Steve looked at Sam. This guy would be a spoiled child until the very end. But given the sacrifice he made, the least they could do was to grant him his wish and to let him wear his robotic-like prosthesis. At least, one good thing came out of this whole catastrophe, apart from rescuing the hostage of course.

“So, when do I get to wear it?” the brunette asked again.

***

_Pierce’s house, in the rich neighborhood of the town_

 

            Pierce looked through the window. A truck was taking away what once was his car, a bizarre metallic package; some cleaners were trying to erase the painted insults on his walls and bay windows. A glass of vodka in his hand, he patted the cheek that had a hard time with his nephew, whom he tried to set aside. He thought that his punishment was excessively disproportionate given his actions; he only wanted this insufferable brat to get out of the game. The kid was barely 25 and he was making more money than him, and already had a dying father with even more lots of money. He, who had worked hard too, was rewarded with insults, slurs and personal attacks. He had lost so much.

A maid – yes, he had domestics – appeared in the room to announce someone. “Sir, someone is here for an appointment with you.”

As Pierce turned around, a man had entered to face him. He was rather short, but extremely confident, wearing an expensive suit and couture shoes. He wore a goatee with sunglasses _inside_ a house, and chewed provocatively on a gum. He was already getting on Pierce’s nerves.

“May I know who you are? I’m not really in the mood for visitors,” Pierce shot.

“Um, yeah, about that, I’m not a visitor. Name’s Tony Stark, you probably heard of me before. I’m the CEO of a firm too, except I’m a _little bit_ more competent at managing concurrence than you are,” he concluded, making a funny face and insisting on the ‘ _little bit_ ’, still chewing on his gum.

“You asshole, how dare y-“

Stark raised his finger. “Wow, let’s calm down immediately,” he pointed out a man who was holding a microphone. “You’re letting anger cloud your judgement, and your judgement is very important.”

“Why would it be?!” Pierce spat.

Stark massaged his goatee, feigning realization. “But… yeah… _why_ would it be? Since you’re legally transferring your dying firm to a young, successful and rich CEO. I’ll give you a hint, it’s me.”

The diabolic uncle choked on his saliva. “I beg your _pardon_?”

“Then beg,” the other retorted, chuckling and still chewing his _damn_ gum. “Just kidding. The thing is, you’re in a very disadvantageous position, even if you have power. The magnanimous person that I am graciously bought your firm so that your legacy could go on, while you either are on exile, or in jail. That’s it.”

The other was fulminating; in his wrath, he even dropped his glass, that shattered on the floor, spilling the alcohol. “ _Legally_? I think you’re mistaken, Mister _Stark_. I signed nowhere.”

Stark took off his sunglasses, serious. Suddenly, he began to giggle, taking out a paper. “Don’t worry. This little gang of yours, erm, the Thanos gang, got his ass kicked. In their distress, they granted us access to some of your documents used to pay them. From here, we used your signature and things went like clockwork. So saying, good luck and bye-bye,” the man concluded, putting on his sunglasses back. Two police officers appeared to escort Pierce outside, who was screaming and yelling and thundering that he had the right to an advocate. The maid watched in awe her employer leave the house in a white and blue car, and allowed herself a contented smile.

***

_A few days later at Asteria Corp._

 

            Scott Lang returned to the firm after a few days of a well-deserved break. He had rested as much as he needed, but somehow he was irretrievably drawn to the firm belonging to his cocky and unbearable boss. He wondered if he was okay, left alone in charge of such a big company, especially given his phlegmatic temperament and his predisposition to ignore an issue rather than to solve it. He ran away from so many things… Scott hoped he didn’t ignore his promise to find a suitable surrogate, or he would deeply regret his break.

When he arrived in front of his office door, he felt anxious and relieved at the same time; anxious that the one who replaced him was incompetent, and relieved to come back to work and find again a familiar environment, as stressful as it may be. Pushing the door open slowly, he stared at an unknown silhouette sitting at his _own_ desk and using _his_ computer. Well, the silhouette was after all not that unpleasant to look at.

            The little golden sign that used to display “Scott Lang” had been replaced with the letters forming one name: _Hope van Dyne_. The woman at the desk was quite tall, sat upright and exhaled a discreet but sweet perfume. Her brown hair was tied up in a professional ponytail, with no flaws whatsoever, and highlighted her angelic face: high and well-defined cheekbones, clear and confident eyes, with soft lips accustomed to smile. Scott was a little bit thrown off his balance, not sure if he had to be outraged that he’d been replaced or admirative of the work done by the woman. Indeed, if he had left with a monstrous pile of non-processed files, he was now welcomed with a clean and tidy office, with boxes, plastic holders and everything an organized employee did. Hope got up suddenly when she saw the man, all smiles.

“Mister Lang, I presume?” she shot with a lively and playful voice.

“How… do you know?”

“Seeing your shocked face, it was quite easy to take a guess,” she chuckled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t mess with your stuff, I simply arranged things. And they gave me your office, so…”

Scott shook the hand of the woman. “And how long are you going to stay here?”

“No idea. It depends on the boss’ opinion. But I’d say that you’re in trouble, since I’m more efficient than you,” she concluded on a laugh.

“I’m sorry, are you intimate with Mister Barnes now?” the secretary objected, outraged. “And where is he now? I had no news for days.”

Hope nodded, still smirking. “First of all, I’m not _intimate_ with Barnes, and I know nothing about the relationship you had with him. Second, I have no idea where he is, he sent a mail to all the employees to warn them that he’d be absent for two days at most. Needless to say that given his usual hobbies outside the firm, nobody worried of his absence.”

Scott, though his three-piece suit made him feel worthy at first, understood that van Dyne had the glib repartee and that she identified right away the CEO’s personality; she was not to be messed with. Behind this warm and cordial façade seemed to hide an implacable woman and a workhorse.

“You’re… not wrong,” was all that Scott could say. “But I’ve been to Mister Barnes’ side since the very beginning, when he first created that company, and even though he often went about his business, he never left without telling where he headed.”

“Well, I forgot to tell you that his bodyguard was with him, so, that’s why I didn’t worry,” the woman retorted. Scott swore under his breath. “ _Why is it that when something serious happens, it always has to do with Rogers?_ ”

“What did you say?”

“Erm, nothing, it’s just that the… _bodyguard_ he hired recently sort of… disrupted his life. In a good way, and… in a less good way,” the secretary mumbled.

Hope detailed the man eaten up by stress, and moved closer to reassure him, even though she found odd that someone cared so much about his boss. Like, who never dreamt about killing his employer? She put a caring hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry Lang, I’m sure he’s having a good time. For now, you can help me with those files, and we’ll find a way to work as a team in the same office, alright?”

The man stumbled on his words, cracking up a smile. “Of course.”

***

_The police station_

 

            Nakia had a million things to handle. Her agile hands flew from files to telephones, because she had three telephones on her desk, and always stuck one right between her cheek and her shoulder, so that she could type on her computer while being on the phone. She was an extremely busy woman, especially with the recent case they had to manage. Peggy had acted without the administration’s approval, and hopefully she found the hostages, otherwise her direct supervisor would have thrown a fit. Since the killer-abductor had managed to lose them for weeks, they had operated not only out of the police’s competences, but they had engaged civilians (or at least, non-professional law-enforcement agencies) and that was quite bad. If the case didn’t benefit from a wide media coverage that scared the population, things could have gone to shit.

            Speaking of non-official law enforcement agencies, that is to say, _militias_ , Nakia remembered that among the constant flow of information transmitted to her about the Schmidt case, no one had given the identity of the backup deployed in the junkyard. It was a substantial blind spot, and Nakia had covered enough drifts to let this one go. _God, this case will drag me down. If someone enters my office right now, I might kill him._

            But Nakia didn’t keep her promise. The man who pushed her door and appeared in her office left her speechless, as she hung out the phone sluggishly. Her gentle and dark features were distorted by stupor.

“T’Challa?”

The man stood upright in the middle of the room, but displaying a humble expression, if not ashamed. His eyes fled from the woman’s gaze from moment to moment, even though he couldn’t refrain himself from looking at her beauty. His hands were crossed behind his back so that she wouldn’t see him fidgeting.

“Hm, hello, Nakia,” was all he said.

“What are you doing here?” she retorted with astonishment rather than resentment.

“I… wanted to make things clear.”

Nakia understood that he would have some explaining to do. Thus she left her seat, and moved forward, with her habitual feline gait, calm and graceful. She plunged her black ink look inside her interlocutor’s, waiting, but not in a hurry. “What things?”

“I was the one who helped agent Carter and her friends, and provided them with the tools to carry out their mission,” T’Challa announced. “If you want to engage penal pursuits against someone because of the illegal dimension of this operation, turn towards me and not them. In any case, they don’t have the financial means to assume this burden.”

Nakia crossed her arms, outraged but not surprised. “Because James Barnes has no financial means, is that what you’re telling me? Or do you want to show off somehow?” she retorted, though she did not feel completely angry. There was a playful note in her question.

“Please, don’t misunderstand, Nakia,” T’Challa pleaded. “I’m just saying that I helped them and that I take responsibility for it.”

“Why would you, though?”

That question resonated in the room, and was particularly embarrassing for the man. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Nakia, yet he knew that saying nothing would be inappropriate.

“I wanted to do something right.”

The woman stared at him, obviously not expecting this answer. “What? But… you already did great things before! And it’s not the first time that you’re meddling in other people’s stuff to play the hero,” she protested. “I mean… beside fighting for the greater good, did you have another motive?”

T’Challa chuckled, discreetly. “You’re talking to me as if I was the criminal.”

“I am really not!”

“Yes you are.”

“Don’t play smart, T’Challa,” Nakia warned, but she was already blushing. “I know you damn well, and you’re quite the _pragmatic_ type of guy. Maybe your superhero excuse is plausible, but I’m sure you had something else in mind while doing this.”

The brief ounce of confidence T’Challa had evaporated in a second. She knew him well, indeed, so well that she saw right through him, as if he was made of glass. It was useless to lie again or to drag her attention on something else.

“I wanted to do something right to prove you that I’m not afraid to act. I am not my father, and I do not follow his ideology. I wanted to show you that I’m ready now. Ready to… engage…” he finished his sentence far less assertive than at the beginning.

Nakia had her dark eyes wide open, and was speechless for a second. Then, she began to crack a smile and laugh uncontrollably. T’Challa asked her what he did wrong, taken aback.

“You dummy,” she said between two fits of laughter. “ _Ready to engage_ … Engage what? A war? A wedding?” she mocked him.

T’Challa took her hand shyly, and it was her turn to be surprised. “Why not.”

And Nakia smiled back at him, repeating that he was a brainless show-off and that she loved him.

 

And stuck to the window that looked onto the office, Okoye, Ayo, Maria and Sharon were grinning, spying on their boss who found love again.

***

_The Rush(ian) hour, a few days after the incident_

 

            The shop, though it went through dark times, was again full of joy and cheerfulness. Its design had been reviewed, now consisting in an Art Deco atmosphere, murals enlivening the white and almond green walls, in a baroque spirit. They even had had made stained-glasses, that projected a myriad of vivid colors across the deep-brown tables. In plain daylight, one could marvel at the many tropical plants that gave away a sense of “tropicality” that compensated the coldness associated with Russian dishes; in the evening, a pleiad of little glowing lights made you feel in a Russian cathedral lit up by candles. Wanda had been exceptionally hired as a musician, since T’Challa had insisted that the café became more of a tea house, and played the piano while customers savored their meals. It helped her rent a better room at the university with her appreciable wage. Finally, there were ten cats glad to be petted by overexcited clients in the shop, which produced a pleasant and relaxed ambiance.

            Despite all those changes, the _Rush’_ remained true to itself. While it gained new clients, the regulars were more than happy to have a tea at the place; the menu didn’t change, and most of all, the owners stayed the way they were. Natasha Romanov was still this mysterious odd woman, with a sharp sense of humor, an unconditional love for her family and her friends, locked up in an unfazed façade that feigned so often indifference. Clint Barton was still her loving husband, fed up with life but not with what he had accomplished, content with the bare necessities that were his dog, his (new) cats, his daily cup(s) of coffee, and his hearing aids that enabled him to hear the voices of his loved ones.

And as they usually did, they invited everyone for a snack (which meant lots of food _natashically_ speaking) since they closed a little earlier. The _survivors_ were the main guests, as well as Wanda and Sam; thus the table included Bucky, Steve and Peggy, who got back again on their feet. Of course, the principal topic of conversation was the aftermath of the Schmidt case; but more precisely, everyone was fascinated about Bucky’s new robotic arm.

“Like, did you feel anything when they put it on you?” Wanda asked, genuinely curious and stuffing _vareniki_ in her mouth.

“No, T’Challa really hired the best doctors to do that, and even in general, I think everything’s done so that the patient isn’t hurt,” Bucky showered the investor in compliments.

“Well, that’s like, the core mission of a doctor. Not hurting you,” Clint cut in sardonically, who did not hold the man to heart. “Why is he everywhere anyway? Our shop, your firm, the operation…”

“At least when he’s around I feel less lonely,” Sam joked.

“Huh?”

“Come on Clint, I’m the only black dude at this table!”

Everyone stifled a laugh, nodding in approval. Natasha added, “ Sorry Sam, we had to prove that we were open-minded to the neighborhood. You know how tough social control is.”

“You’re really telling _me_ that?” he chuckled. “But seriously though, he’s useful but kinda annoying.”

“Annoying? I like him,” Steve spoke for the first time, beyond pleased to share a moment like this with his family. “He’s a bit mysterious, but very helpful and pragmatic. He has a sense of duty.” Bucky scoffed at Steve, bothered for an unknown reason, that did not appear so unknown to Natasha, waggling her eyebrows at the CEO. He wore a plastered smile and looked away.

“Sense of duty?” Peggy also interrupted for the first time since the dinner begin, because she was too busy tasting every delicious meal presented to her. “I’ll have you know that he helped us also in his own interest. I certainly wouldn’t call him egoistic, but he sure is pragmatic.”

“Why are you saying that?” Wanda wondered.

“Erm… I don’t know if I can say that actually,” Peggy slurred, her British accent resurfacing. She was welcomed by a scary chant of “ _TELL US, TELL US”_. She thus told them what she knew, but not before making them swear to keep that a secret. “Alright, please calm down. Hm-hm,” she cleared her throat. “ _According to my sources_ …”

“Which are?” Natasha asked.

“Okoye, mainly… and all of my colleagues… T’Challa and my direct superior, Nakia, were said to have _discussed_ in Nakia’s office the other day. _Allegedly,_ they would have held hands and someone _is said_ to have heard a… ‘ _I love you too_ ’.”

The room went wild; Natasha hit Clint’s shoulder playfully, assuring him that T’Challa was a good guy; Wanda was uncontrollably laughing with Sam, and Bucky rolled his eyes, pretending to throw up. Peggy was somehow or other trying to shush them.

“Oh my God, he’s actually a sappy shit!!!” Sam exclaimed. “You know what _that_ means?!” he asked Natasha rhetorically.

“BLACKMAIL!!!”

“Ok everyone, calm down, we were talking about James’ arm in the first place,” Clint tempered the ardors of his wife. The others remembered that too and regained interest in the CEO’s situation. Bucky felt compelled to talk now.

“Ah yeah… Erm, I’ve said everything. For now, I’m having trouble getting accustomed to this arm, but I guess I’ll get used to it. And it’s… super cool-looking, so that makes up for the pain occasioned.”

“But you said it didn’t hurt!” Wanda protested.

“When they put it on no, but it’s pulling in my shoulder a little when I move.”

Sam nodded. “And do you… feel things?”

He was referencing the touch function as a sense, but Bucky got startled by the question, which raised a lot of uncertainties in him. _Feel things? Of course I do, like what? Is he referencing my relationship with someone? Is he misinterpreting one of my relationship… with.. by any chance… a blonde cookie selling-looking guy???_

“OH, the touch, ah yes!” the brunette stammered. “Hum, yeah I do, it’s quite incredible. I can feel the fabric of my clothes, coldness, warmth, heat, even skin.”

“Oh dear, what skin do you touch, James?” Natasha blurted, obviously teasing him and fooling around. As a sole response, Bucky, who was quenching his thirst because of his dry throat, choked on his water and made a strangled noise, and hilarity ensued. Steve laughed too, but felt his ears heat up, for absolutely no reason.

“At least, medicine saved us both,” Peggy added; after all, she had needed intense care and treatments after what Red Skull had inflicted her. “And you Steve, you’re okay?”

The blonde nodded; he only had one band aid on the temple only a few days after his dreadful fight, and the faded purple of a bruise on his cheekbone. “Thanks” to this hardship, he had discovered that he had super-fast healing as well as super strength. A normal man would have died three times under such blows.

“Yeah Peggy, as you can see, I’m in killer shape! So, don’t worry about me,” he concluded, quieter. As everyone royally missed the weight of those words, the sentence launched him right at the beginning of this adventure, when he used to say this to his high-school crush and when she ignored him. Well, when she _seemed_ to ignore him. Because what Steve didn’t know was that Peggy had never let the blonde leave her thoughts. However, she was irremediably confused about her feelings, as well as Steve, and after careful consideration at the hospital when she was lying on her bed, she came to a tremendous conclusion.

It wasn’t love.

Actually, that was wrong. It wasn’t _romantic love_. Maybe there was a time she romantically loved Steve, when they were at school together. His wheat hair cut too short to be trendy like other pupils, his predilection for reading poems in class and his indubitable gift for literature, the way he always stood up for others, risking – or, _feigning to risk_ – his life for the bullied. The way his long lashes covered his ocean eyes when he drew on his sketchbook, embodying focus and determination in art; the way he laughed too loud and then got shy about it. Peggy loved everything about Steve, and she hadn’t showed him. But she loved him _differently_. The policewoman took time to realize this, because it was so hard nowadays to tear yourself free from romantic love, shoved in your face in every way possible. But her love for Steve was not less valuable than romantic love; and she was aware of this, and it made her happy.

            Her thoughts were interrupted by voices getting louder.

“I _TOLD_ YOU NOT TO TAKE THE _ADJIKA_ , CLINT!!!” Natasha roared as her husband was turning red, hitting himself on the chest in an attempt to digest the spicy Caucasian sauce. He got up to fetch another bottle of fresh water and some bread for his own good.

“I told him not to take the _adjika_ ,” Natasha repeated in an attempt to justify herself.

“Yeah, you already said that,” Sam shot, blasé.

But as the conversation carried on, Clint came back, still a bit rosy but looking better than previously.

“Ah, you’re okay?” the red-head asked.

She never got her answer because just before getting to the table, Clint stopped in front of her, who was sitting on her chair. He was unsuccessfully trying to suppress a contagious smile. Then, he suddenly got down on one knee.

“Oh my God…” whispered Wanda.

“Natasha Alianovna Romanov, you are the most wonderful woman in the world,” started the man with ash blond hair. “No offence, other girls in the room.”

Peggy chuckled as Wanda was still gasping, hands hiding her open mouth. “I know that we’ve encountered some difficulties those last months, even years, but you never let me down, and I never let you down either. Remember when I told you that this was just a bad pass?”

Natasha nodded, eyes getting  slightly teary. _Slightly_.

“Well, here we are now, with a beautiful shop, money, and talented children. And to celebrate this bright outcome that outshone darkness, I would like to ask you. Will you be my wife?”

The red-head moved forward, smiling gently; she took his hand to make him stand up, and fondly looked into his greyish eyes. “You’re going to have arthritis, kneeling like that.”

“Is this a no?”

“It’s a yes, you dumbass,” she said as she kissed him softly.

 

Sam ruined the mood. “Wait, aren’t you both married already?”

Wanda almost hit the table. “Can’t you see that they’re having a fucking moment, Sam?!”

“I’m just asking, _dang_!”

Natasha left her husband’s embrace. “Yes we are, but many people marry twice, don’t they?”

“That’s right,” Clint approved. “And our first marriage was made under budgetary constraints. I proposed a second time to offer her a real honeymoon and a beautiful ceremony.”

As the black man acquiesced, Steve pronounced his first words since Clint had left the room; during the whole time, he had been speechless. “Congratulations to you both!!!” he screamed like an excited puppy. Bucky’s eardrum exploded and he jumped on his seat.

This sole sentence transformed the already joyful atmosphere of the room into a generalized euphoria; the table clapped and whistled in jubilation as the two married-but-soon-to-be-remarried hugged tenderly. Peggy had never been happier.

“Now stop it, or it’s gonna get really embarrassing,” threatened Natasha. “I hope I’ll have time to dress up before the ceremony.”

“Don’t worry,” Clint reassured. “And of course, you’re all invited.”

Bucky felt like he finally belonged to a family. A real one. Not that he disowned his own father, he still loved him despite his flaws; but the last weeks had brought all the evidence he needed to understand that he lived in an abusive household. This kind of meal together, jokes, vagaries, little stories, noise… It’s something that he missed tremendously. For once in his lifetime, he didn’t feel like a stranger. And yet God knows he had lost a lot, starting with his arm. But maybe it was some price to pay to live life to its fullest. Whatever. He wasn’t going to philosophize about life.

“I’d be thrilled to attend to the ceremony,” he chuckled.

“You bet your ass you’ll come,” Natasha warned.

***

_A church in the city_

 

            The bells rang, filling the air with a soft coppery melody. They had chosen a beautiful Romanesque church, for its apparent simplicity that actually revealed beauty in its purest form. And also they chose not to tell that Natasha was of orthodox decent, because there would have been problems. The blue sky was tainted with white petals carried by the wind, and thrown by the guests.

            Natasha appeared beside Clint, both elegantly dressed. The red-head had tied her hair in a refined bun, and wore a simple dress with lace on the sleeves; she had very few jewels, only her ring and the earrings her father had bought her. Clint wore the tuxedo as a free adaptation of the groom’s outfit, that is to say no tie, no _bowtie_ , only a jacket thrown on a slightly open white shirt. As they got down the church’s steps, showered by petals, the guests formed a guard of honor for the couple, Steve, Sam and Wanda at the front row. The ceremony ran smoothly, and everyone was heading for the celebration hall, not so far away.

Bucky, who only knew a few people and thus stayed with them, was held by someone. When he turned around, he saw a girl with a unique appearance accompanied by a jock-type dude.

“Gamora?!”

The girl smiled, which was quite rare. Her deep purple hair flew around her face, and she seemed like a completely different person, far from Bucky’s memories.

“Hello, James. I’m sure you didn’t expect me to be here,” she said.

_I sure as hell didn’t! And we’re not supposed to be friends, why are you talking to me?!_

“Erm, I have to admit that I’m… quite surprised.”

“No need to use a formal language,” she jested. “You’re not in company of your stepmother, are you?”

Bucky didn’t recognize the woman; who he once knew as a cold, heartless and despising person had turned into an open and cordial girl, even if she kept the secretive aspect of her personality. This interaction was sure awkward, since their families had both tried to set them up; but as clear as the CEO could see, Gamora had found herself a nice, _not rich_ man who probably cared for her more than her entire kin.

“Indeed, I came here alone. Well, without my family.”

“I see that you’re not really alone,” the girl noticed. She glanced at Steve, Sam and Wanda, who were talking with the freshly remarried couple. But Gamora seemed to only see the blonde man, enthusiastically gesturing and all smiles, radiating joy. “Who’s this?”

Bucky knew very well whom she was talking about; he did what he used to do for weeks now: pretend not to see.

“That’s Wanda in the red suit, then Sam, the black dude, and Steve… my… employee.”

The man who was at Gamora’s side laughed. “You’re going to your employee’s wedding? That’s weird!”

“He’s not the one who’s getting married, Peter,” the woman rolled her eyes.

“I know that, Gamora, you understood me.”

Bucky allowed himself to retaliate. “What even are you doing here anyway? _I_ know those people, but do you?”

“We were hanging out in the park next to the church, and we heard some noise,” Gamora assured. “And since Peter is a big fan of weddings, we stopped by to enjoy the view. The bride is indeed very pretty. Is she your new mother-in-law?” she asked on a knowing smile.

“What do you mean?” Bucky sneered. Once again, he knew what she meant but deliberately ignored it. How many people were gonna shove in his face that he was-! That he _was_ -!

Crap. He couldn’t say it, it felt so weird. By the way, Gamora and Peter were waiting for an answer, observing the man’s inner discussion. Changing her strategy, his _almost-girlfriend_ put an understanding hand on his shoulder. Bucky almost jumped so much he was taken aback. She stared at him with intense, hazelnut eyes.

 _“_ You deserve to find love too, James. Despite what you can think, we have a lot in common. Educated to believe that we reigned on the world, though in the end we were in a cage. But you can choose to live in another world, as well as I did. And there, you won’t have to pretend to be someone else anymore. You can freely be whoever you want to be.”

On those words, the girl threw him one last glance, as her boyfriend made a cowboy greeting to say goodbye and turned around. While they left, Peter added something. “Isn’t that Barbie’s motto? Be anything you wanna be?”

“Shut up, Peter.”

And Bucky, frozen in the spot, was brought back to reality by Sam’s distant calls. They all spent a wonderful evening and partied all night.

***

 

 

            “Don’t you have enough Armani shirts?!” Steve protested as he followed his boss in town, jumping from shops to other shops. It was a bright afternoon; a gentle wind blew in the cherry trees, making their leaves rustle and whipped through light clothes fabrics.

“One never has too many Armani shirts,” Bucky answered, displaying his classic Paco Rabanne sunglasses and filling the air with swag.

“Unless you don’t have the money to buy them, duh,” the blonde retorted.

“Do you know that I pay you an enormous monthly amount of money? I need you to know that. Have you ever looked at your bank account?”

“I make a point of living humbly, even though I’m indeed well paid,” Steve answered with dignity.

“Whatever, being humble shouldn’t mean dressing badly.”

Steve hit Bucky on the shoulder; except that Bucky didn’t move. The blonde frowned.

“That’s karma! You forgot I’m an android now!” the CEO laughed uncontrollably.

“Oh what, you wanna take this out?” Steve jokingly threatened.

“We’re already out, you dumbass. By the way, do you want ice cream? I’m having two chocolate scoops,” the brunette said out loud, changing the topic. They both arrived at the park near Asteria Corp, where many things had happened: their first altercation about having ice cream instead of working, Bucky’s race to find his harasser, or the time he was shot in the shoulder with a pellet.

“I’ll have two vanilla scoops then,” the blonde declared. “And don’t eat as much as when you were at the wedding, alright?”

“I ate _just the right amount_ at Natasha and Clint’s wedding, Mister Rogers,” the CEO defended himself. “I’ll get the cones and we’ll sit down somewhere.”

            Bucky indeed fetched ice cream, and Steve stood right beside the same bench on which his insufferable boss had sat on, on his first day of work. He watched the skyscrapers that were on the other side of the waterbody, that were lit up from behind by an afternoon sun setting down slowly. The clouds were bathed in a mix of warm colors; magenta, orange, yellow and a bit of cyan, soon swallowed by the end of the day. The overall atmosphere made Steve wish that he had his sketchbook to capture this beautiful landscape.

“You’re just gonna stand up like the first time, while I’m sitting down?” Bucky’s voice interrupted him.

“No, don’t worry,” the blonde assured while taking a seat next to the brunette. They first ate in silence, savoring their respective cones, watching the skyline. They seemed fascinated by a town they were re-discovering. Suddenly, the waffle cone Bucky was holding exploded in his hand, projecting ice cream everywhere on the ground. The two were in shock.

“What the hell happened?” Steve exclaimed. His interlocutor was in shock, looking at his empty metal hand covered with chocolate drops.

“I… just held the cone…?”

“It’s your arm! You’re not accustomed to your strength yet!”

“But… my ice cream…” the brunette whined like a child who, well, _lost his ice cream_.

“You can have mine, I’m not hungry.”

“You sure?”

“I am. I don’t like ice cream that much anyway,” Steve chuckled.

Bucky gasped in shock. “Then why do you accept it when I’m asking you if you want ice cream?! You could’ve taken a waffle, or a pancake!” he said, outraged.

“Well, if I don’t want Mister Barnes to throw a tantrum in the middle of the park, I’d better have it, right?”

“You make me sound like an imbecile, Steve, and I don’t like this,” the other mumbled.

The blonde handed his cone to the CEO, who took it hesitantly, still dithering on the fact that he should or not steal ice cream from another. He questioned his bodyguard with his eyes, and Steve nodded to grant him the authorization. As Bucky started to lick the scoops, he wondered if that was kind of an indirect kiss.

_Maybe I should start eating where he didn’t eat… But in the end, I’ll have to eat the other side too…_

Steve watched with careful attention what the man was going to choose, and felt the stupidest in his life. _If he starts by the other side, that means he’s disgusted? And why should I be bothered with the way he eats a goddamn ice cream?!_

This last thought made him turn his head to look at the skyline once again. He changed the topic. “It feels weird that all of this is over,” he began.

“What, like, the case?”

“Everything. I feel like we’re closing the chapter of a story,” the blonde explained, a bit nostalgic. “The end of your harassing story, Schmidt’s death in prison, Nat and Clint’s wedding, even if it was the second time… So much had happened those last few weeks, I don’t even have a sense of time anymore.”

Bucky listened religiously, agreeing with the man. “But some things haven’t changed. And if they have, it’s for the best, you know… Natasha and Clint, and their family are still the same, your dog is well, and… you’re still working at Asteria!” he shot cockily. “What a chance, after the disaster you were!”

Steve couldn’t agree more, but still wanted to reply because of his ego. “Then why haven’t you fired me ever since?”

The CEO found himself dumb. He was indeed trapped. He had avoided the question for way too long, and has always provided Steve with shitty excuses. He thought about Gamora. Holding onto his ice cream cone, looking down, he said something.

“Maybe it’s because I didn’t want you to go.”

 

Time stopped. The children’s screams in the park, the din of shops, and the rustle of the wind seemed so distant. Steve, whose face was dimly lit up by the amber sun, was looking at Bucky, his mouth half-opened in surprise. His wheat hair took on a nice shade, with glowing coppery strands. His heart pounded in his chest, and he didn’t know if it was because of fear, anxiety, or excitement; he only halfway liked this.

“Bucky…” he started.

“Don’t worry, I just say sappy shit from time to time,” the other changed the subject. “God, it’s so fucking cringy, how can a grown-ass man say that?!” he rhetorically asked while fake-laughing.

“Do you like me?”

He was welcomed by a silence, obviously. The CEO appeared fascinated by his ice cream cone, to a point no one can imagine. He detailed all the patterns produced by the waffle iron, his body heating up like kettle. Soon enough, he’d be making a high-pitched scream like the kettle too.

“Erm, like you? Well, I kinda do, who wouldn’t?” he regretted that sentence immediately. “ _I mean_ , you’re quite the superhero. You have many qualities, and I’m sure you help grandmas cross the pedestrian, things like that. So, obviously… yeah. Why, do you like me too?” he stuttered. He also mentally slapped himself for those last words.

Steve appeared less affected – verbally speaking – but he was equally losing his shit. He fidgeted on the plastic bags next to him. “Yeah, I… like you too. You play the unbearable boss’ role, but actually you’re golden-hearted, and you’re selfless. You may be a grumpy cat, swearing and insulting people, but to me… you’re just as worthy as Thor.”

“Erm… thank you… who’s Thor?” Bucky was glad to finally change the subject.

“My dog, you know, the Labrador?” the blonde answered, smiling.

“YOU’RE COMPARING ME TO A DOG AND YOU THINK IT’S A COMPLIMENT?!”

“It’s not any dog!” Steve protested, almost laughing. “It’s Thor!”

“Yeah, I know who Thor is, thank you, and I feel bad for him if you really wanna know, _jeez_ ,” Bucky ranted.

They both went silent again, but freer. They looked at the skyline with another perspective, unable to tear off the smile on their faces. Bucky enthusiastically licked his ice cream, opening the first button of his shirt to feel more at ease. Steve, still pink-eared, felt confident enough to ask another question.

“Since I gave you my cone, is it like… an indirect kiss?”

The brunette stopped, his chin above the cone, immobile. He took off his sunglasses, filled with a new kind of adrenaline.

“I don’t know… Would you like… a direct one?”

And it was Steve’s turn to choke on his saliva, a thing he had yet learned to control at his boss’ sides; but with this turn of events, he was probably going to need to work on this. His ocean eyes were wide open in shock.

“See, _that’s_ what I call sappy shit!”

“It’s not sappy, it’s a pick-up line! Did it work?”

           

            The blonde-haired man grasped the Armani shirt his _boss_ , _friend_ , whatever was wearing, and stuck his lips on Bucky’s. They tasted like chocolate, quite obviously; he felt the perfectly groomed stubble of the man, and his soft skin. The brunette was staring in shock staring into space, because Steve was the closest he could ever be, and finally gave in to close his eyes.

The _splotch_ of the ice cream cone falling flat on the ground interrupted this sweet moment. The blonde started giggling, and buried his head in the hollow of the CEO’s neck. “You really don’t want to eat ice cream today, don’t you?”

Bucky was still staring at Steve like he was his whole universe. “It’s… not my fault.”

“Whose damn fault is this, then?!”

“Erm, yours, obviously. I hung out with you being all clumsy, thus I became heavy-handed myself.”

“ _No_ , that’s because you have a robotic arm. And an employer should never insult his employees. I want a promotion or a compensation.”

Bucky congratulated himself with the sentence he was going to say. “I have a promotion for you. It’s quite the upgrade.”

“Tell me,” the blonde demanded.

“You’re promoted to my official boyfriend, which is a highly-coveted position in the firm. Don’t thank me.”

 

Steve had to look down, to prevent the other from seeing laugh. He took his head in his hands, embarrassed, and finally look up to see those beautiful stormy eyes.

“When it comes to sappy stupidity, you’re really a champion,” he chuckled.

“I had a great model, after all.”

***

_FIN_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do everything I plan to write shortly takes 100 pages??! I swear to God, I'm the antithesis of brievity.   
> Anyway, we've done it! In this final chapter, I'd like to say that I have no knowledge in poisons, so I'm probably saying shit concerning Bucky's condition. As for the new Rush', I drew inspiration from a coffee shop in Saint-Petersburg, the Elyseev Imperium Café. It's amazingly pretty.   
> The scene in which Sam says he's the only Black dude is indeed meant to be humoristic and light-hearted, but of course the message behind it remains the same... And finally, the "varenikis" are like peruzhkis, a Russian meal, it's a very good :)  
> I yet again repeat the same thing over and over, but it really warms my heart to see your lovely comments, the number of kudos and views, it means a lot to me! For those who had the courage to follow this erratic story, here is the ending, and I hope I didn't disappoint you, because you didn't disappoint me for sure!   
> And really really last thing, I'd like to apologise if there are some mistakes, you may have noticed that English is not my first language, so sorry about weird sentences and all that stuff! Ciao!


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